


You Make Me Free

by azuresky18



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beckman Correctional, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Canon-Typical Violence, Gallavich, Gallavich Endgame, Gay Sex, Homophobic Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s09e06 Face It You're Gorgeous, Prison, Prison Sex, Shameless, Top Ian Gallagher, Unsafe Sex, Violence, Witness Protection, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 143,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azuresky18/pseuds/azuresky18
Summary: Set during, and immediately after, the events of the conclusion of S9E6. Ian and Mickey, against all odds, have been given a shot at a new life in, of all places, Beckman Correctional. Where will they go from here?





	1. Reunited

**Author's Note:**

> I have created an approximate, spoiler-free timeline of events in this story. This is subject to change and is for my reference as much as it is yours, since this story is long and the chronology will likely get hard to follow:
> 
> Chapter 1-2: October 2018 (approximate time in this AU when S9E6 took place)  
> Chapter 3-6: November/December 2018  
> Chapter 7: January 2019  
> Chapter 8-10: April 2019  
> Chapter 11: One week later, late April/early May 2019  
> Chapter 12: the following day, still May 2019  
> Chapter 13-14: two weeks later, late May, early June 2019  
> Chapter 15: June 2019  
> Chapter 16-18: still June 2019, eight months having passed since Chapter 1  
> Chapter 19: late June/early July 2019, the following morning after Chapter 18  
> Chapter 20-21: two weeks later, late July/early August 2019  
> Chapter 22: the following day, late July/early August 2019  
> Chapter 23: nine days later, early August 2019  
> Chapter 24-25: mid-to-late August 2019, with mentioned reference to a past event from July 2019  
> Chapter 26: a week later, late August 2019  
> Chapter 27: early September 2019  
> Chapter 28: later in September 2019  
> Chapter 29: October 2019  
> Chapter 30: November 2019  
> Chapter 31-34: December 2019  
> Chapter 35: January-April 2020  
> Chapter 36: April-September 2020  
> Chapter 37: September 2020  
> Chapter 38: September-December 2020  
> Chapter 39-42: December 2020-January 2021  
> Chapter 43: January-March 2021  
> Chapter 44: June 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly expository and will be rated “Mature.” This is likely to change in future chapters.
> 
> All references to “WITSEC” in this story refer to the United States Federal Witness Protection Program, a.k.a. the Witness Security Program.

Ian couldn’t understand how things got so out of hand. He dreaded the fate awaiting him the next morning, because it was so surreal.

With the cacophony of the Gallagher house having died down for the night, Ian had some time to think as he tossed and turned in his bed, the last time he’d be there for two years while he served his prison term for arson.

Although he tried to keep up a brave front as he enjoyed his last meal with his family before he got carted off to the slammer, he was scared shitless. Ian knew for longer than he would have wanted to admit that his Gay Jesus schtick had gotten out of hand. It was hard to admit. It began with the best intentions. Actually, he didn’t even know what he wanted.

He thought he wanted Trevor. In hindsight, he was just knocked on his ass by the one-two punch of saying goodbye to Mickey, then coming home to discover Monica died. It was the universe’s sick joke. In his heart, he knew, while far from the perfect mother, nobody else in his family could ever _get_ him like Monica did, as much of a fuckup as she was. It was her nature, the Gallagher way. No one else knew what it felt like to be misunderstood for their mental illness, facing pressure from society to fit in, craving stability, but still wanting to feel alive and experience the full spectrum of emotions they were meant to have, without being told they were broken and had to be fixed.

Monica’s passing left a hole in Ian’s heart, and when he got back from losing Mickey and saw nobody else seemed to give a shit Monica was gone, it was too much to bear. He felt so alone. Ian knew his family wouldn’t understand why he missed Monica, so he only briefly discussed his feelings and doing so never came easily to him. Aside from one late-night conversation with Lip, he never spoke again of Mickey since it was too raw, too painful - more so than even the loss of Monica.

Ian diligently took his meds, with the worst of the side effects that made him feel nothing, killed his sex life with Mickey, and caused that slow motion effect having leveled off. But since he’d read about how traumatic life experiences could result in his meds not working as well as they used to, he worried the time bomb might go off. As time went on, he started to not care. He was a burden, and Ian was tired of the incessant nagging about his meds.

Why suppress his own natural emotions for the convenience of others? He was too independent and strong-willed to need a nurse waiting on him hand and foot, for fuck’s sake. It infuriated him to be infantilized by people who constantly badgered him about his meds like he was a goddamned child.

He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be with Trevor; he felt guilty about cheating on him. In a neighborhood full of fuckups, Trevor wasn’t that bad of a dude. On paper, he didn’t have a record, he helped at-risk kids who needed the help, and he opened Ian’s mind to a part of the community he never knew existed.

Things should have been great with Trevor, but it wasn’t that easy. He hated how Trevor tried to interfere with his relationship with his mother when he had no idea what things were like when Monica was at her worst, and he hated feeling like a dumbass for being ignorant and getting talked down to when he tried his best to learn. He hated being berated and manipulated into doing things he didn’t want to do, but he stuffed it down since it beat being alone.

On top of that, there was something missing: a spark, the fire. As he’d asked Fiona before making the decision to go with Mickey on the road trip to Mexico: what if nothing else gave him that same thrill again? If Trevor was a pilot light, Mickey was a raging wildfire still blazing inside of him. But he’d lost Mickey for good. He watched as the man he finally was able to admit he loved drove into Mexico alone. Ian’s heart was so heavy, it felt like it would burst.

He felt like a terrible human being for doing this, but he had worked too hard at bettering himself to give it up. Ian had prided himself on his ability to focus like a laser beam on a goal, and do whatever it took to accomplish said goal. He studied his ass off to become an EMT and sold himself into getting that job, and took a stand for people with mental illness in doing so, albeit in the most Gallagher way possible.

It was cruel: before he’d made that fateful trip to the Mexican border, everything in his life was going so well, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing. It burst back into his life with the cop who turned up on the Gallagher doorstep to inform him Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich - his Mickey, with such a long name for such a small little thug with an attitude problem and a personality twice his size - had broken out of jail. And then it all went to shit, just like it always did. Stability and happiness didn’t come easily for Gallaghers.

It bugged Ian how, since having his life back in Chicago after returning from the border, it should’ve made him happy. He should have been glad he didn’t throw it all away for an unstable life as a fugitive, not sure where or when he might get his medication refills he needed to manage his bipolar disorder. As much as he wanted Mickey, he wanted his sanity more. Mickey showed him a medicated life was worth living. He owed him that much to not fuck it up.

The thought of what could have happened to Mickey tortured Ian. What if Mickey pissed off the wrong guy and ended up with a bullet in his brain? He did have a knack for ending up on the wrong side of the law, and Ian was sure it would continue no matter what country Mickey was in. Even then, they’d be letting him off easily with a quick death. The bullet to the brain would probably be the coup de grâce after they tortured him for fuck knows how long. Those Mexican gangbangers didn’t fuck around.

Ian tried not to think about it too often, because the thought was just too painful and too much to bear. He had to move on, because there was nothing else to do, so with that part of his life closed off, Ian decided he wanted the companionship Trevor gave him. It beat being alone. Trevor was a decent guy, and helping him with the shelter gave Ian a purpose and an outlet for pent-up emotions.

At first, Ian made excuses to be around Trevor, but he felt a real sense of hope in helping those kids. Helping them ignited something resembling the old fire inside the redhead, and made him feel alive. It gave him some reason to keep pushing on. Maybe he could help these poor, lost souls, since he couldn’t save Mickey from the terrible fate of the corrective rape that prick, Terry, forced on him.

He couldn’t save his love from gaining a wife and child he never wanted - and something died inside Ian when he saw Mickey marry Svetlana. There was a wall in his heart that wasn’t there before - an edifice of Ian’s own making because he couldn’t stand any more pain. He thought he could get away from it in the Army, but that went to hell before long.

After he returned from the Army, Ian didn’t know what to make of seeing Mickey again at the club, and it wasn’t because of the drugs. He couldn’t bear more heartbreak, so he’d pushed Mickey away, afraid to get his heart broken again if Mickey couldn’t come to terms with who he was and committing to Ian. So he stopped sharing his feelings with Mickey. Ian stayed distant and cold, even as the black-haired man pulled out all stops to win his ginger back.

Ian regretted that now, and tried to repress his thoughts of blue eyes and jet-black hair he missed like Debbie’s amputated toes, like part of him was missing - even though he could barely admit that to himself.

Trevor assumed Ian was only helping the shelter kids because he wanted to get back with him. Trevor was wrong. Sure, companionship was good and getting laid was a perk, but Ian saw Mickey, the broken spirit of the young thug who won over his heart - in spite of Ian doing things that would have pushed anyone else away - in the faces of the at-risk youth. He saw the ugly, twisted face of Terry Milkovich in those pastors, since gay conversion with Jesus and a smiling, simpering face was just the other side of the coin with Terry’s violent homophobia as its other face. He was too late to help Mickey, but maybe he could still help these kids.

But then, like everything else, it turned to shit. Ian blew up that van because he couldn’t stand the thought of the lonely, broken kid who lived on the streets, whored himself out, took drugs and was being pressured to take mood-stabilizing meds that felt like they sucked the joy out of life. He couldn’t abandon this kid and let his fucked-up dad take him away in the van, because the kid was once a young Ian.

Continuing the Gay Jesus charade while he waited for someone to bail him out was just a way to fill the time, and an outlet to continue his purpose and a way to fulfill his mission. At the time it made sense, but now he saw it for what it was: a manic episode, a product of delusions of grandeur. He thought he’d heard the voice of God speaking, but it was just Monica’s shitty genetic contribution. He took a good thing and ruined everything, turning it to shit like he always did. Fucking Gallaghers.

Once Ian was out of the county holding center and his “followers” posted his bail, he kept going through motions. He didn’t know what possessed him to knock on the door of the Milkovich house, knowing he might end up staring down the last face he’d wanted to see before prison. He thought he needed to know what to do in jail from somebody who’d been inside more than out - and he needed some closure since he’d never see Mickey again.

Somehow, Terry didn’t end up a bloody smear on the Milkovich doorstep, likely because Ian realized adding more time to his short sentence was not what he wanted. Ian didn’t know what he expected, but it was fairly anticlimactic, considering their history. At least he got to chuckle at the look on Terry’s face when he reminded the asshole his son liked taking dick in his. Laughing at it made the hole still in his heart hurt less, too.

From there, it was a blur. He barely noticed Geneva and the rest of the members of the movement he’d started. They were just noise and he saw them for what they were: opportunists who didn’t give a shit about him and just saw him as a prop for their agenda. Trevor was gone and had enough of Ian’s bullshit. It was just as well.

Ian drifted through the motions with his public defender, but he spoke from the heart when he opted to plead guilty but insane before his “followers” in court and his family in exchange for a reduced sentence. He knew that, as fucked-up as all of the Gallaghers were, they’d have his back. Nothing was more important than family, and he realized too late, after he’d taken them for granted too many times. He’d shit on too many people who tried to help him.

Ian tossed in his bed, willing thoughts of shivs made of broken plastic silverware and cafeteria trays, and looking over his shoulder in the showers, to the back of his mind. It was only two years, and he could do this. 

He ruminated on how this was his lot in life. One by one, he’d lost everything important to him: his boyhood dream of a career in the Army, his first love, his best friend who deserved so much better than she got, his mental stability, and his renewed shot at a decent future as an EMT before he pissed that away, too.

It dawned on him that maybe he wasn’t meant to be happy, and it was all too good for him. He fought back tears as he drifted into uneasy sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, as he hugged the throng of Gallaghers and Balls outside Beckman Correctional, Ian did his best to keep on a brave face, not knowing what lay ahead. As many times as he’d had close calls with the legal system - nearly being court-martialed by the Army for the helicopter mess and going AWOL, joyriding with Yevgeny and ending up in the psych ward - he was in over his head. His luck ran out.

Even with the briefing from Antonio in the Gallagher house about the west versus the “Disney” east in Beckman and impromptu Krav Maga lessons from Carl and Kelly, he was unequipped to deal with the reality of being in real prison, with criminals who probably wouldn’t take kindly to Gay Jesus. His short stint in Cook County was a cakewalk next to this.

Ian felt like a zombie as he surrendered his possessions and stripped, shivering in the cold room as he put on his white prison-issued boxers and yellow jumpsuit. For the next two years, he’d be a number. He’d be stuck with some cellie who may or may not want to gut him like a fish in his sleep. Having already received his daily dose of meds, he tried his best to will off despair, shame and fear of his surroundings.

Ian tried to ignore the jeers of the other inmates as the guards led him to what would be his home for the next 720 days. He tried to shrink down, but his large frame betrayed him. He hated his jet-black hair, even though he didn’t stand out as much. But there was little he could do about his red eyebrows and eyelashes, the ginger wisps on his arms accenting pale skin dotted with freckles, and his fiery bush down below that earned him the nickname of Firecrotch from...he couldn’t bring himself to think of him, so he focused on the long march to his prison cell.

Once the door closed and Ian entered his cell, he felt more alone than ever. This was what he deserved because he couldn’t get his shit together before it was too late. _I’m now a convicted felon,_ Ian thought miserably.

Ian claimed the top bunk, happy nobody yet occupied the bottom one. Who knows who might end up walking through that door soon? He shuddered to think. Thankfully, Ian didn’t have to wait very long to find out, and he stiffened as he heard the door open. He turned, preparing his fight-or-flight response knowing there was nowhere to escape in this shoebox. What he saw nearly bowled him over.

Mickey Milkovich, the man he left at the Mexican border in a wig, dress and ungodly-uncomfortable black heeled boots, was staring back at him with his trademark smirk. Ian hoped this wasn’t another voice of “Shim,” the voice of God, speaking to him, a cruel product of his mind betraying him. It would be too painful to comprehend. Then...he spoke.

“I rolled on the cartel I was working for, and in exchange...guess who gets to pick where he gets locked up?”

Every conflicted emotion came flooding back to Ian, and he choked back tears. He couldn’t think of anything to say to express himself in this present moment. This couldn’t be. Mickey was in Mexico, enjoying himself as a truly free man for the first time in his life, no shackles of family expectations, no insecurities, no self-loathing due to his own sexual orientation holding him back. But he came back. He was free, but he gave it up to come back. Mickey was here.

Hoping Mickey would understand if he wasn’t exactly a fountain of verbosity, he settled with, “Holy fuck.”

Mickey gestured to the bunk beds against the back wall of the cell. “Oh, hey - I’ve got bottom, so you’re on top,” he mused, briskly walking over to his chosen lower bunk and stretching out on it, leaning back and cradling his head in his arms. He lay there expectantly for a moment, waiting for Ian to make a move.

Ian, still in shock, was finally able to register some other emotion. He broke out into a wide grin and tackled Mickey on the bed. They kissed surprisingly tenderly, not with any of the ferocity of their reunion on the South Shore docks. Ian knew there were words left unspoken and baggage to unpack, but he settled for enjoying this. His hands explored Mickey’s body, the short but sturdy frame he came to know so well, with the solid chest and strong, thick arms enabling Mickey to be deceptively strong despite his small stature and short limbs.

Ian’s fingers ghosted over pale flesh and the new tattoo on Mickey’s forearm, with the words “Lado Sur Siempre.” Ian didn’t know much Spanish, but he’d guessed it meant “South Side Forever.” He wondered if Mickey knew he’d end up back here to save Ian’s sorry ass again. Another time he didn’t deserve this handsome man, once a dirty, unkempt boy, with sticky fingers in more than one sense of the phrase, who’d worked his way under Ian’s skin.

This was it - Mickey was it. In spite of other people they both banged, they seemed to find their way back to one another. This was fucked, but Ian was damned if it didn’t feel right.

After exploring Ian’s mouth with his tongue for a few minutes, Mickey broke the kiss first and, predictably, voiced his opinion on the biggest change in the ginger’s appearance since Mickey last saw him. Ian wasn’t surprised by the reaction from the shorter man, given the nicknames from his boyhood which focused on his flaming hair, all courtesy of Mickey.

“Firecrotch, what the fuck did you do to your fucking hair? You look like someone dipped your head in tar,” Mickey scoffed. “You trying to look like me or some shit? I miss the alien-looking fucking carrot top I first banged years ago.”

Ian laughed darkly. “Yeah, that was a fucking mistake. I was getting ready to make a break for it because I didn’t know if I’d be able to cut it in here. I talked to your asshole father, of all people, to see what prison might be like.”

“Fucking Gallagher,” the shorter man snorted. “Only you’d actively seek out that fucking dirtbag and go to him for advice. You mean to tell me you couldn’t find nobody else in all of the South Side with a record you could’ve asked if you wanted to know about time? Fuck, if you fucking listened to me all of the times I’d told you about juvie, or on the four days when I thought we were both gonna run to Mexico, you might’ve had a general fucking ghost of an idea. Fucking Christ.”

Ian sighed. “You’re right, but that’s not the same. I was thinking how I told you ‘this wasn’t me anymore,’ or some shit. I did the best I could with what I knew. I had no idea I’d get wrapped up in this shit and land myself here. I worked my ass off to get that EMT job and get myself on my drug regimen to where they didn’t make me feel like shit. I wasn’t ready to give all of it up.”

Mickey nodded slowly, seemingly taking all of this in and silently willing Ian to continue his explanation - one that was long overdue.

“Don’t get me wrong: I loved my job, but I never should have gotten it in the first place because I lied about my bipolar disorder to even land it,” Ian said. “But none of it was sustainable. I couldn’t keep living in denial. I thought I wanted a normal life, but when that cop told me you had broken out, I knew I couldn’t just forget about you and I was fucking kidding myself in thinking that I had any kind of future with Trevor. You’re kind of fucking hard to forget about.”

Mickey frowned. “Hold on a minute. We never got to fucking talk about this on the road to Mexico, because we fucking suck at actually saying shit when we open our mouths. What was that bullshit about Svetlana having to pay you to see me in fucking prison? I could’ve dealt with it, knowing that I was only there because I tried to off the bitch who tried to ruin you, but not knowing when or if I’d ever fucking see you again...fuck, never thought I’d say this, but living with Dad for all of those years wasn’t half as bad as all that. Your shit fucking hurt.”

Ian hung his head in shame, silent.

“I could’ve gotten a goddamn fucking phone call,” Mickey added. “Not knowing if I’d ever see or hear from your ass again was fucking murder, and compared to dealing with my dad, he’s kid stuff next to that bullshit. It was like getting stabbed in the heart. Fucking Gallagher.”

Ian fought back tears. “I’m so sorry, Mickey. I meant what I said when I told you it was too hard to see you behind the glass. But I was selfish. I wanted to hate you because it was easier than admitting I still felt something for you, but couldn’t see you outside of jail for eight years. I tried so hard to fucking forget you because the alternative hurt. I couldn’t deal with it on top of all of the other shit going on. I was a fucking mess.”

After taking a deep breath, he continued to pour out his heart. “My meds were all out of whack, they were kicking my ass, Monica had gotten into my head and I didn’t know what else to do. But you aren’t so fucking hard to forget,” Ian blubbered further.

Mickey snorted. “I better not be fucking hard to forget. Who else would’ve dealt with everything from dragging your coked-out ass home from that fairy bar to fucking blowing up your phone for days, not knowing where you were, while you were off doing fuck-knows-what with Monica? I meant it when I said caring about you meant staying through thick and thin, good times and bad, sickness and health and all that shit. It was the real deal. No shit.”

“I’m so sorry, Mickey,” Ian said, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I fucked up and I’ve given you every reason in the world not to trust me. I don’t know why you bothered to come back for me. You were free, Mick. You had your freedom. You were sitting on some beach in Tijuana or wherever, drinking a fucking Corona and trying not to burn like a motherfucker, since you were so observant as to note that would’ve happened to me. Why did you come back?”

“‘Cause I couldn’t fucking sit there and watch while you made a goddamn fucking ass of yourself on fucking YouTube, ranting about Jesus’ love and all that other stuff? I saw the look in your eyes when they aired the dumbass video of you preaching to those fucking bastards in that church on the news. And you blowing up the fucking van?” Mickey retorted.

“I had no idea what the fuck was happening with you from the time I crossed the border, but I sure as shit wasn’t about to sit on my ass and let you get carted off to jail by yourself, with nobody to fucking look out for you,” the blue-eyed man continued. “Gay Jesus in gen pop? You’d be a sitting duck for any motherfucker who wanted to make you his bitch.”

As more tears began to roll down his face, Ian was speechless. After Mickey had done all he could to make it up to him for breaking his heart by marrying Svetlana, Ian had gone and thrown it away like it was trash. Like Mickey was trash. Ian didn’t know how he could ever make it up to the small man who had held such a large part of his heart since he was just 15. He’d known Mickey for close to a decade. No matter what life threw their way and the fucked-up shit they’d been through, here they were, together again.

Sobs wracked Ian’s tall, muscular frame as he realized how much Mickey still cared about him even after all the shit Ian had put him through. His green eyes were bright red from all of the crying. Already slouched to fit his tall frame into the space on the bottom bunk, he slumped further in shame. He couldn’t hold back the crying. This was all too much to take in.

Mickey nudged him and moved the taller man’s unresisting body to lay down next to him on the bed, and cradled his formerly-red head in his hands. “Shh. We’ve got time to deal with this,” Mickey said. “I’m here. Just lie here with me. We’ve got two fucking years to sort out all of this sappy shit.”

“Two years?” Ian asked, dumbfounded. “How much time did you end up getting?”

Mickey smirked. “Like I told you. Rolled on the cartel I was working for. Gave them way more shit than they were expecting, and one of the FBI dudes had been doing this for 20 fucking years. At first I was a grunt with the Mendez cartel out of Juarez, but I moved up in the ranks fucking fast since their top guys took it upon themselves to trust me. Stupid. A pasty white motherfucking gringo from Chicago? I learned enough in the year I was there to know who their main dudes were and who to avoid. But shit got ugly, fast."

Ian raised his eyebrows. Mickey did have a way of surviving almost anywhere.

Mickey cleared his throat. "I was already planning on turning myself in, because what I had wasn’t freedom at all. We were about to get raided and I saw the opportunity long before you got your ass arrested and I saw it on the news,” he said. “That just gave me a perfect in. I made a deal with the feds to be locked up wherever you were, and got my sentence to be whatever you got for blowing up the van."

"They weren’t gonna let me off with nothing at all. But they’re not just gonna throw me to the dogs,” he added. “After tonight, when everyone’s sleeping, they’re moving us into the isolation area in the East wing - we’ll get special fucking treatment because they don’t want my ass to get shanked in the fucking showers before I have a chance to testify.”

In order to ensure they both stayed safe while locked up at Beckman, they were to have meals brought to them and a separate area to exercise. They could not leave the cell without a CO guarding outside the door or in the prison yard. Ian nodded as he digested this. At least if he was going to be gawked at like a spectacle, he wouldn’t have to go alone, and Mickey would be there to fend off unwanted attention.

“After that, once they’ve gotten all they need out of me, we’ll serve our time and they’ll ship me wherever the U.S. Marshals send me. They’re putting me in WITSEC. Witness protection. They‘ll give me a couple options, and only like four fucking dudes on the face of the earth will know where I go,” Mickey said. “I’ll be leaving the South Side. It’s the sort of crazy-ass shit you thought only was on TV. It’s real. I’ll have a fresh start in exchange for my testimony. A name change. Mickey Milkovich‘ll never have existed. Adios, motherfuckers.”

Ian’s eyes got big. “Wait a minute...you aren’t a Milkovich anymore? What the fuck will they be changing your name to? What’ll happen to Mandy, Iggy and everybody else?”

“They’re going, too,” Mickey said. “Not that they should fucking do it, but they’ll be able to leave if they wanna, if they change their minds. They can get their old shit back. Feds already rounded them up so we all end up in the same place. We’ll be the McGuires now. I’m now Michael Anthony McGuire, so my name’s still Mickey. Mandy, Iggy and them will be shipped off to orientation outside of Washington, locked in a fucking vault there and be briefed on their new names and all that shit.”

He paused for a moment. “Probably Dad, too, although fucking asshole probably ain’t gonna want to cooperate. They should be able to keep their first names, like I did.”

Ian was stunned. “You’re getting a fresh start? And you’re never going to be able to go back to Chicago again after we’re out, right?

Mickey shrugged. “Ain’t nothing left for me here. Why else would I have been so eager to go to Mexico? Feds have been doing this shit for years. How the fuck you think they got informants for those Mafia dons to talk? Feds haven’t had anybody die on their watch, long as you listen to ‘em. Couple poor motherfuckers who chose to leave got whacked, though. Best to just stay in if you don’t have many ties. I imagine not being able to see friends and shit weighs real heavy on you. You can’t go back - people’ve died when they tried to go home and a fucking booby trap blew off their faces. You’re in this shit for the long haul.”

“Will I be able to go with you?” Ian asked. “Will I be protected and given a new last name as well? I won’t be a Gallagher anymore?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know if they’ll be able to do the rest of your family. It’s usually parents, siblings, spouses and kids of informants. But you’ll be able to get a fresh start - so will I. None of that shit from our past - Sammi, Mexico, the cartel - will follow us again. They’ll put us in a new city. Give us money, an apartment, job training. Give it thought. You gotta be in this for the long haul, and this is why I said you’ve gotta be fucking serious if you wanna have a future with me once we’re outta here."

The green eyes across from Mickey widened, considering the ramifications further.

"I’ll be able to make an honest living for once - welding, construction or some shit. Might even pay good. We can have a good life, like we talked about before I got locked up and any of this other shit happened. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be telling you this at all if you decide not to do it, but we got plenty of time. Just hold me for now,” Mickey continued.

Ian was thunderstruck. After all of his fuckups, he still might have a second chance, should he choose to take it? He could be given a chance to forget about all of this shit that got himself thrown in jail, and become anonymous?

In some ways, it seemed too good to be true, but the pain of possibly never seeing his family again was also weighing heavily on his mind. Ian still didn’t know why Fiona wasn’t there to see him off. The thought of not knowing what happened to her tore at his heart.

But he had Mickey. Mickey...his Mickey. The small, pale, blue-eyed thug who held his heart for so long was back in his life, and now he had a huge decision to make. Ian would have ended up in the same position had he gone with Mickey to Mexico, but now he had a way to do it legally. At least Mickey was right. He had plenty of time to decide.

For now, just holding Mickey was enough, as it was almost time for lights out and to return to the upper bunk. Even with the prison turning a blind eye to the fact they’d be having sex in here, it wasn’t a good idea to be entwined and make it too obvious.

Ian stirred before going to sleep. His mind needed a rest and it was still going a million miles an hour, but those thoughts were for tomorrow. For now, all of his thoughts were on Mickey - his Mickey, dozing and slightly snoring in the too-small twin bed below him.


	2. Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that from here on, this work will be rated “Explicit.” This chapter, and subsequent others, will contain sex.

Ian wasn’t sure what time it was, or how long he’d been asleep, when a CO came into his cell and rather roughly tapped him awake.

“Inmate Gallagher!” he heard a gruff voice bark. He looked up to see a stout, dark-haired CO with brown skin and a beard whose badge identified him as Williams.

Williams woke Mickey in a similar manner, barking, “Inmate M!” at him and poking him. Mickey jolted awake as if he’d been shocked, seemingly still unaccustomed to the use of his initial. Ian presumed this was the protocol for WITSEC inmates in order to further keep their identities confidential.

“CO? What time is it?” Ian said, still half-asleep and trying to remain respectful. He already feared he’d be enough of a target in prison for being Gay Jesus, so he didn’t need to get on the bad side of the COs as well.

Aside from Williams’ voice, all seemed relatively quiet and he didn’t hear any other noises coming from outside of their cell.  
   
“05:00,” Williams answered. “I’m here to take you both to the PC unit. You’ll be escorted by myself and CO Duncan to your new unit. We’re taking you out of here early so you can be situated in your new cell before everybody else gets up and heads down to the mess hall for breakfast. You will have your own separate mess hall in the PC unit.”  
   
They briskly walked along the corridors of Beckmann Correctional, with both Williams and Duncan escorting them along. Ian reflected on how eerily quiet it still was, and with no windows, he had no recollection of whether it was still dark or not. Since the days weren’t short enough yet for it to still be dark at 5:30 a.m., he figured it was light out.  
   
Figuring they were still somewhere on the eastern side of the prison, it dawned on Ian that what Antonio had referred to as “Disney” consisted of mostly the PC unit, or protective custody, in Beckman.

Once they were situated, with the COs shuffling the young inmates into their cell and leaving them there until the men in gen pop had been escorted and settled down to breakfast,

Mickey explained this was the case. Antonio was a buddy from when Mickey served time in juvie. Once word got back to Mickey in Mexico, he called in a favor now that Antonio was eking out a decent living on the outside. After Mickey explained, Antonio was happy to help.  
   
According to Mickey, the east side of the prison had its own separate showers and exercise yard, both of which had sight lines from the guard stations where COs could easily monitor them and hopefully break up any altercations before they started.

Since both he and Mickey were “high-risk,” Mickey for being a protected witness and Ian for being gay and a high-profile case, it was a foregone conclusion that Ian would’ve ended up there even if he hadn’t shared a cell with Mickey.

Mickey pointed out to Ian that his status as a protected witness would give them extra perks, such as unlimited access to cable TV, permission to have a radio in their cell and a separate commissary. Normally, they’d have increased phone privileges, but Mickey was advised not to contact anyone on the outside until after his release, when he was to join the rest of the former Milkoviches in whatever city WITSEC eventually placed them.  
   
Ian longed to hear the voices of his family members as well, but he wanted to make sure he made up his mind and that, should he decide to enter the program, all necessary security arrangements would be made so the prison could take proper precautions. Once Ian made up his mind - if he said yes and the Gallaghers were approved to join them - he wasn’t sure if he’d see them again yet, either.

He assumed the feds would explain if he couldn’t, and he still hadn't seen Fiona since a week before he went in. He hoped she was okay.  
   
Once Williams and Duncan returned to escort them to breakfast, Ian saw they were in a slightly open room with a food line and a few other inmates who mostly avoided their gaze or kept to themselves. Ian took a few pieces of toast, sausage, scrambled eggs, a cup of Jell-O and a carton of milk before sitting across from Mickey, who had settled down with his chow at one of the tables along the wall.  
   
“Your dad wasn’t kidding when he said the food was shitty in prison,” Ian lamented as he bit down on his rather lukewarm piece of toast. It tasted like cardboard.  
   
Snorting, Mickey said, “Can we not mention that fuckhead? It’s bad enough I have to look at your coal-black head every time we head down to chow, shower or go outside to the exercise yard. I feel like you and I switched bodies or some other fucked-up shit. It’s fucking creepy as fuck and I miss you being an alien-looking, freckled ginger motherfucker.”  
   
“Well, if I end up entering the program after all, you may have to get used to it once we get out. People won’t be used to seeing a black-haired Gay Jesus,” Ian reasoned. “We redheads are a rare breed, and I stick out like a sore thumb with my natural hair color. It’s just too risky. I’d be way less likely to get noticed on the outside if I dye it black again, but for now, I’ll ask the prison barber to buzz it and it’ll be red for you again until we get out of the clink.”  
   
Mickey smirked. “Thanks, Gallagher. I knew I could count on you to indulge my fetish of being able to get fucked by a carrot top again.”  
   
“Speaking of which,” Ian began, leaning closer to Mickey as the latter shoveled another mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, “I think we have a lot of that to catch up on, since we were too busy catching up on our emotional baggage to fuck last night.”  
   
“Ah,” Mickey said, sarcastically. “I knew there was something we forgot to do. It’s been too fucking long since I had a good dick and back in Mexico, I couldn’t be out or my ass would have been toast with the cartel. I had to fuck girls to keep my cover. If word got out I like to take it in the ass, I’d be dead. At least there was a fairy bar outside town I snuck off to when I was sure about not getting caught.”  
   
Ian grimaced. “Gross.” He stuck his tongue out at Mickey. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow slightly at this remark from Ian, unsure if there was anything else behind it, but let it go. “Fuck you, Gallagher. The next time I see that tongue it had better be doing something useful when we get back to our fucking cell,” the shorter man retorted.  
   
“No, fuck _you_ ,” Ian said. They couldn’t hold hands or otherwise openly express any affection, but for the two of them, this was foreplay.

Ian realized again how much of a fool he was to let Mickey go to Mexico without him, but who knows what would have happened? Maybe the cartel would have killed them both. Mickey noted couldn’t safely be out while working for them, so maybe this arrangement was a blessing in disguise.  
   
Once the COs arrived to escort the PC unit back to their cells, Ian and Mickey struggled to avoid making it too painfully obvious that what they wanted most was to jump each other’s bones later.

As they walked along the corridor, Ian shamelessly stared at Mickey’s ass in his yellow prison jumpsuit as the smaller man walked ahead of him while they headed single-file down the hall. These ugly things did nobody any favors, but Mickey still looked like as much of a treat as ever in his, Ian thought.

It was too risky to fuck when everyone was awake and walking around. Sadly, they’d have to wait.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day was a blur for Ian. He visited the prison psychiatrist, who made sure Ian would be receiving the proper dose of his meds with his dinner, and that he’d regularly see the therapist to whom he was assigned.

In a few days, they’d both begin a work detail, which would take up a large chunk of their morning and afternoon time. Mickey was assigned to wash dishes and clean the PC unit mess hall, while Ian began working in the commissary organizing, shelving, labeling and facing stock as it came into the prison. He noticed the nicotine patches in the pharmacy area and made a mental note to grab some for himself and Mickey, since that was one of the things Ian had to get used to: no smoking.

While they were separated for their work details, they received adequate supervision, as promised, as they were escorted by the COs.

Ian was relieved that in this section of the prison, no one seemed to recognize him from his Gay Jesus days. At least there was a silver lining to being where nobody really wanted to get on anybody else’s bad side.

After dinner, once they were back in their cell, Mickey walked to the back of their cell and stretched out on the lower bunk, arching his back like a cat as he reclined.

“Are you just gonna stare at me some more or do you wanna get on me?” he teased Ian.  
   
Ian stared down hungrily at his partner, all sprawled out on the bed for him like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

He tutted at Mickey. “Fucking bossy bottom. Do I have to teach you a lesson on how to be patient? You’ve waited this long.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to fucking wait any longer. I bought lube from the commissary drugstore specifically for this. Get on me already,” Mickey whined.

Ian raised one still-thankfully-red eyebrow. “They have lube in commissary? I thought you just had to make do with spit, Vaseline, lotion or whatever else you can find or they sell in here.”

Mickey scoffed. “It depends. Some of this shit is because we get special treatment thanks to me being a cartel snitch, and you being the appointed lord and savior of the South Side queers. I’m not fucking complaining. But you can tell me more after you get on me.”

“So impatient,” Ian chuckled. “But it has been way too fucking long. I missed this.” He pinched the swell of Mickey’s ass through his jumpsuit. “But first, you have to take off this hideous thing.”

Mickey complied and got up out from under the bottom bunk, stripping off the offending garment and helping Ian out of his. Ian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the blood in his body rushing downward at the sight of the smaller man’s biceps and chest, strong from workouts in prison over the years, and stomach with a squishy layer that Mickey never could quite keep away no matter what he did to discourage it. He probably didn’t have time in Mexico, while on the run, to work out as much. Ian didn’t mind, though. He always found his partner’s body sexy as it was.

Once they were both down to their boxers, Ian leaned downward into his smaller lover’s body, cupped his face in his hands and kissed him passionately, opening his mouth when Mickey deepened the kiss.

Both men moaned into each other’s mouths as Ian felt Mickey’s tongue slide into his. Fuck, it had been too long.

Ian felt his cock, already at half-mast, stiffen further. The feeling of Mickey’s tongue exploring the inside of his mouth further, his hands on his waist, was  too much. He needed Mickey now.

Ian’s fingers ghosted over the light, barely-there freckles and alabaster skin, stopping here and there over a faded scar or two. His strong, thick legs, which Ian found sexy as hell, with the bullet scar from when Kash shot him over the Snickers bar so many years ago just a faded blotch on his creamy thigh.

His hands moved to the dimples just above Mickey’s ass cheeks, grabbing a handful of the soft flesh of one of them and squeezing. It felt like a cliche, but it felt like home.

Mickey’s body was the perfect combination of muscular and stocky, with just enough extra weight on him to where he wasn’t chubby, but still kept the bit of extra ass and thigh jiggle that he also could never get rid of (although Ian would rather donate his liver to Frank than see Mickey lose it).

It drove Ian crazy. In his eyes, Mickey was nuts to not see how hot he was, as much as he tried to deny it. Ian was a lucky man to be able to get a piece of that again after going without.

Ian broke the kiss long enough to growl, “Bed. Now.”

Mickey obliged, but hesitated slightly. “How do you wanna do this? These beds are like fucking matchboxes.”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck. I just want to get in you right fucking now. We can fuck on the goddamned floor for all I care.”

Mickey climbed up the ladder to the top bunk, with Ian unable to resist the urge to spank his partner’s boxer-clad ass. It was just too much of a treat and it was right there - the sound of his hand smacking Mickey ass echoed in the cell. Mickey yelped and said, “Fucking hell, Gallagher.”

After Ian joined him, his hands returned to his smaller partner’s body. His left hand ghosted over the tent in Mickey’s boxers, with the cotton of the undergarment unable to conceal the blue-eyed man’s excitement.

He slipped his hand under the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and wrapped his long, nimble fingers around his aroused cock, feeling the tip that was wet and leaking. Mickey managed to stifle a groan as he groped the taller man’s ass through his boxers. 

“Mmm, fuck, Mickey. You’re so fucking hot,” Ian breathed as he closed his fist around Mickey’s cock and kept stroking it, feeling its warmth as it continued to weep pre-cum. As he pulled his hand out of Mickey’s boxers to help the older man out of them, a clear string of Mickey’s desire stuck to Ian’s hand.

“Fuck,” Ian said again.

“Shut up and suck me,” Mickey panted.

Ian chuckled. “Bossy, impatient bottom. Good thing I’m in no mood to wait, either. I want to make you feel so fucking good.”

As Mickey stretched on the top bunk, Ian maneuvered between his legs and leaned forward until he was on top of Mickey, burying his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck to take in his scent.

He moved down, trailing kisses until he reached the blue-eyed man’s left nipple, with the crudely-carved tattoo of Ian’s name still on the pale skin over Mickey’s heart.

Ian pinched the hardening, rosy peak until Mickey gasped loudly and fisted his hand in Ian’s hair. As he sucked on the left nipple, Ian flicked its counterpart and pinched until Mickey keened - a very un-Milkovichlike sound escaping his throat.

“Come on. Stop teasing me, goddamn it! You fucking suck,” Mickey moaned.

“No, I don’t. Not yet. But now I do,” Ian said as he grazed over Mickey’s hips and wrapped one hand around his fully-erect cock. It was just as hot as Ian  remembered - not too long, which made Mickey self-conscious, but with enough girth to feel full in Ian’s hand and mouth. The tip of Mickey’s flushed pink cock head slightly peeked out from underneath the foreskin - another part of himself that Mickey hated, but Ian always tried to reassure him that it was fine the way it was.

Mickey was one of the few uncircumcised men Ian had been with, and Mickey blushed furiously (not that he’d ever admit it) the first time Ian saw him naked after their fateful tussle over the tire iron in Mickey’s room so many years ago. Ian never cared - it felt different in his hand and took some getting used at first to when Ian jerked Mickey off, as opposed to what he was used to with his own cut dick and those of the other partners he’d been with previously. But the one time Mickey asked Ian about it, Ian said he didn’t care as long as he kept it clean, so it was never an issue.

Ian stroked Mickey with one hand as the redhead planted kissed around Mickey’s hips, then lowered his head to swirl his tongue around the exposed tip of the older man’s cock, the foreskin fully retracted and the skin taut as Ian ran his hand along the hard shaft.

Mickey hissed and then moaned as loudly as he dared in the prison cell when Ian engulfed his head in his warm mouth and sunk down until the former redhead’s nose was buried in the dark curls at the base of Mickey’s cock.

His thighs twitching, Mickey stifled his moans as Ian continued to work his mouth along his erection, hollowing his cheeks to increase the suction, and swallowed once Mickey’s head was fully encased in the back of his throat.

As he felt Ian’s throat muscles working his sensitive tip, Mickey bit the back of his hand to keep from crying out loudly. Mickey used his other hand to alternate grasping and lightly pulling the dyed-black strands on Ian’s head, tightening his grasp when Ian stimulated a particularly sensitive spot on Mickey’s dick with his tongue, enjoying the exquisite blowjob his younger partner was giving him.

As Ian kept working Mickey’s cock with his lips and throat, he used his hands to carefully cup and caress his partner’s balls, running his fingertips along the orbs covered by a layer of loose skin and wiry dark hairs. Soon enough, Mickey continued to pull insistently and harder on Ian’s hair, which the younger man knew was his cue to stop before Mickey got too close.

Ian pulled off of Mickey’s still-weeping cock and leaned forward over the smaller man’s body to plant a deep kiss on his lips, allowing them both to savor the taste of Mickey’s arousal.

“Fuck, Gallagher. You always were one hell of a good cocksucker,” Mickey breathed.

“Yeah, so I've been told. But you can damn well give me a run for my money,” Ian retorted, coaxing a smirk out of Mickey. The latter’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he recalled the memory of the last time he enjoyed doing just that.

“Lay down and I’ll remind you what you were missing out on,” Mickey said.

They shifted positions so that Ian was lying on his back, with his legs spread on the bed with Mickey kneeling between them.

Ian’s body was a fucking masterpiece, Mickey thought, with the freckles everywhere. When they were younger, Mickey spent so much time tracing his fingers over them, Ian joked he should connect them all with a Sharpie - to which Mickey retorted that it’d be a wonder if he didn’t have grey hairs before he got to the last one. Ian must have really been keeping up with his workout regimen, Mickey thought, because Ian was fucking built compared to when they were kids. Gone was the skinny teen Mickey used to bend over for in the cooler at the Kash and Grab.

Between his broad shoulders, muscular arms and his tight abs - Mickey wanted to simultaneously kill him out of jealousy and fuck him for having such a hot body that no gay guys could never get enough of. His fingers grazed the chest hair Ian stopped shaving once he stopped working at the club, and Mickey moved further down to trace the military tattoo on Ian’s ribs he had gotten during his ill-fated Army gig.

Ian quietly thought to himself he was glad he didn’t have to explain the Monica tattoo yet - he would eventually.

Mickey ran his fingers along Ian’s gift of a cock, the taut skin darkening with arousal and the tight skin soft in his hand, a contrast to the hard tissue it covered. He loved all nine inches of his well-endowed partner, and his cock was not only long to where it made him drool every time he saw it, but girthy enough to make him feel stuffed and hit the spot inside Mickey where it counted.

Mickey ran his tongue along the pink, bulbous head, as Ian sighed, adjusting himself on the bed. Damn these prison beds and his long legs.

The shorter man opened his mouth wider to engulf all of Ian’s cock, noting how long it had been since he did this. He loved Ian’s cock and no one else had ever been as good of a lover, nor had he trusted many other guys to where felt comfortable bottoming - even though he fucking loved it, missed it, and nothing was as satisfying.

Mickey suppressed his gag reflex until he had taken all of his partner’s thick cock, causing the former redhead to gasp and moan, “Fuck, Mick. I want you now.”

Ian didn’t want the pleasure of Mickey’s blowjob to end, since no partner had ever given him such good head. Most partners were too eager to gawk at Ian’s cock, but couldn’t relax their throat muscles enough to deep-throat it, but Mickey was great at it.

Even so, as great as this felt, he wanted to bury his cock deep inside Mickey’s tight, warm ass before he came too soon and finished in Mickey’s mouth.

“How do you want me?” Ian asked, letting Mickey call the shots. While his preference as a bottom might be at odds with his public persona of calling shots and commanding respect at the cost of getting a fist to the face, as Ian reminded Mickey when they were kids, by no means was Mickey passive.

“Lie down on your back,” Mickey responded. “I want to ride you and feel your thick cock filling me up until you bust hard inside of my ass.”

Ian groaned. “Jesus, Mickey. You’re fucking killing me.”

He responded accordingly, lying flat on the bed and, once he was positioned, grabbing the small tube of lube that Mickey leaned down to grab from under his pillowcase on the bottom bunk and tossed to him.

After warming the tube in his hand so it wouldn’t be ice-cold, he handed it to his partner. Ian moaned again as his lover straddled the ex-redhead’s slightly spread legs, facing Ian’s feet, and began using his fingers to prep himself. He started with one, then slid a second into his slick hole, and Ian couldn’t resist the urge to help him out.

Eyeing Mickey’s two fingers, with the crudely-tattooed letters on his knuckles no longer visible next to those on the other three, Ian slicked his index finger with lube and slipped it into Mickey’s hole alongside his partner’s own, watching his opening stretch further to accommodate the girth.

Mickey moaned, “Fucking hell.”

While Ian couldn’t move his finger very much, he used the side of his digit to press against the outer rim of Mickey’s still-tight, but loosening pucker. He didn’t want to hurt Mickey, and he figured it had been a while since the smaller man had done this. He always could take Ian so well, though.

After a few minutes of this, Ian removed his one finger, followed by Mickey’s two. Mickey turned around as deftly as he could in the small prison bed. He took the lube and squirted as much of it as they needed, while conserving some for later activities, on Ian’s hard cock.

Ian took his erection in hand and made sure it was coated in slick before Mickey positioned himself over Ian’s cock. The smaller man used his strong thighs to lower his body down, gasping and closing his eyes as Ian penetrated him for the first time since they’d done it on the way to Mexico. His walls stretched around the thick, blunt head of his lover. Fuck...this felt so good and Mickey wanted to savor each moment of it.

Ian groaned loudly. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking tight...you take my cock so well. You’re so fucking hot.”

He resisted the urge to thrust his hips up into Mickey’s body, letting his partner set the pace as his body adjusted.

Mickey leaned forward to passionately kiss Ian, slightly wincing at the feeling of being stretched so full. He’d been thoroughly prepped with a total of three of their fingers, but Ian was so big it was necessary.

Still, it was the enjoyable type of slight burn that could only come from being fucked - and he only let guys he trusted fuck him. He was glad he’d given Ian the chance so many years ago, knowing there was something special about the then-skinny, awkward redhead.

Knowing his body well enough - perhaps from muscle memory, since they had done this so many times, passing time be damned - Mickey began to bounce on Ian’s lap, his hole slick with lube and Ian’s pre-cum. He fucking loved feeling how stretched his hole was and the movement amplified every feeling from his nerves, the sound of their slapping skin almost too loud in the quiet cell. He ground his hips into Ian’s as he did so, loving the feeling of being so close to his partner, both physically and emotionally.

Ian’s hands were all over. He alternated from keeping them on his partner’s hips as Mickey rode him, to smacking his ass lightly, then slightly harder, keeping in mind where they were to avoid making too much noise.

Mickey keened and clenched his hole around Ian’s cock, which in turn drove Ian crazy. Mickey was so warm, wet and tight, and Ian grunted loudly each time Mickey took his cock to its base with his balls resting against his pale ass.

When Mickey angled his hips to allow Ian’s cock head to run against his sweet spot, he whined, the high-pitched sound making Ian even more aroused.

“Fuck, this is good. I won’t be able to last long...I love fucking you so much. Your hole feels so nice and warm,” Ian panted.

Mickey smirked slightly through heavily-lidded eyes. “Fucking hell, I missed this. Now stop being a lazy asshole and making me do all the goddamn work. Start fucking me!”

Ian guffawed. “Bossy bottom.”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hips, planted his feet and met Mickey’s thrust for thrust, forcing even more moans and pants from his greedy bottom.

Mickey hadn’t even touched his cock yet, but Ian saw how red and swollen it was as the smaller man took every inch his top had to give him, Mickey’s cock bouncing painfully along with his full balls, ready to shoot his load before long Ian held Mickey in place and pounded him harder, angling his thrusts to hit his partner’s spot.

“Please...” Mickey begged. “Please let me come. I’ve been so good and patient waiting for your cock. I need to fucking shoot so bad.”

While Ian knew Mickey could come untouched, he wanted release as badly as his partner did and took pity. He grasped Mickey’s cock, making the blue-eyed man almost cry out in relief. Mickey bounced harder and his breathing became still more ragged.

“Oh, fuck!” Mickey cried out, moments before his cock began to spew his creamy load all over Ian’s stomach and hand. He whined again and convulsed on top of Ian, who felt Mickey’s hole clench around him as his own cock head kept brushing against Mickey’s swollen prostate. The pleasure was too much as he was starting to become overstimulated, and pushed Ian’s hand away from his spent dick.

“Oh, fuck, that was so hot, Mick. Where do you want me to come? I’m so close.” Ian said through clenched teeth.

“Fucking come inside me. I want it. I want you to fuck your load into my ass,” Mickey said, still breathless from his orgasm.

With Ian on the brink of his climax, Mickey resumed bouncing on his partner, wanting desperately to feel Ian’s load coat his insides.

With a loud, almost animalistic grunt, Ian went over the edge, his cock pulsing and legs shaking as he spilled inside of Mickey. He panted through his orgasm until he felt his cock begin to soften, his release threatening to spill out.

Mickey moaned softly as Ian’s softening cock slipped out from his slick inner walls, cum beginning to leak out of his slightly open hole.

“Fuck, Ian. That was so fucking good,” he said, breathlessly.

Ian smiled, exhausted, at Mickey. “That was really, really fucking good.”

His brain was mush and not really able to form much else, in the way of a coherent sentence. He just wanted to feel Mickey’s body pressed against him for the moment before they had to get up and grab toilet paper to clean themselves off.

Mickey climbed off of Ian and down off the bunk. He pulled a strip of toilet paper off the roll and handed it to Ian, who followed him off the bunk.

As Ian turned around to grab his boxers off the floor, Mickey snorted. Ian flushed, as he had a shrewd idea of why that was.

“The fuck, Gallagher? Why the fuck did you get a pair of tits tattooed on your back, and when did this happen? Did you lose a fucking dare?” Mickey said, incredulously.

Ian sighed, resigned to his fate. “No, I didn’t lose a dare. I was stupid and asked the tattoo artist to design something in memory of Monica, but he got confused. I guess I didn’t specify clearly enough that Monica was my mom. He did it freehand and didn’t use a stencil, so I didn’t get to see it until he was done.”

Mickey chuckled. “Well, considering I’m the one who sat in a cell with a dirty needle, carving your name into my own chest, I have room to say jack fucking shit. Besides, it’s not that bad. When we get out of here, fucking give the tits a black tank top and slap ‘MOM’ on the chest. Easy fix.”

“You always did have me covered when coming up with ways to get me out of shit,” Ian said, smiling. “You always had my back.”

Mickey took a while before responding, “Yeah...I did. Every single fucking time. But let’s talk about that tomorrow.” He cracked a slight smile.

Ian’s heart sank. Not wanting this to be too awkward, and knowing Mickey still likely harbored at least some resentment for the Sammi and Mexico thing, among his other misdeeds Ian knew had hurt Mickey terribly, he figured this conversation was better had after a night of rest.

Ian and Mickey then climbed into their respective beds. The sex put even the prospect of entering witness protection out of Ian’s mind momentarily, but that was only borrowed time until they had to hash it out. It was a lot to digest.

As he stared at the ceiling, Ian thought about the whirlwind of the trial, yesterday and today. He mused that Antonio was right when he’d told Ian he’d find guys who gave the best blowies in the east wing of Beckman.

At that time, Ian had no idea then how right Antonio was. All things considered, this wasn’t as bad as Ian feared.


	3. Together

In the coming weeks, Ian adjusted surprisingly well to life behind bars, and before long, he and Mickey had served a month of their sentence. Ian felt it strangely comforting to be arranging, sorting and stacking product in the commissary, since it reminded him of simpler times at the Kash and Grab where he worked as a kid alongside Mickey. It also gave him time to think about a tough decision he’d likely be facing in the near future.

Since Mickey informed him that only “partners, siblings, spouses and kids of informants” were eligible for witness protection, this had been eating at him. Mickey seemed confident Ian would be able to join him once their sentence was up and Mickey would be sent wherever the other newly-minted McGuires went. But Ian wasn’t a blood relative of Mickey, or his child. He wasn’t his spouse, either.

As he sorted the boxes of first-aid equipment, including Band-Aids and gauze, he thought back to his stint as an EMT – what he thought was his dream job before he stopped taking his meds and got in over his head.

What would happen if Mickey had to leave Ian behind? The thought of going back to the South Side with a record while Mickey was stashed in witness protection, with no way of contacting him or ever seeing him again, was too painful to comprehend. The very prospect was like a knife in his heart.

Once people entered, the most difficult part was having to leave their old life behind, Mickey had said. For Mickey, who was adaptable as a cockroach and had more painful memories than good ones of his family home, it probably would be an easier adjustment in terms of being able to get a fresh start, especially with time served for attempted murder. But even Mickey had his limits. Life couldn’t have been too cushy for him while he was doing fuck-knows-what with the cartel he got mixed up with.

It was a stroke of luck, good fortune, or the work of Shim – he thought grimly, when he believed that was a thing – Mickey had been able to pull enough strings to land in the same prison as Ian, as his cellmate at that.

What if all of this ended up being for naught and they had to say goodbye again after two years, or less than that if one or both of them got out for good behavior? The thought deeply disturbed Ian. He barely survived losing Mickey twice, and he couldn’t bear enduring the grief a third time. Each time Mickey exited his life, Ian thought, some of the darkest days of Ian’s life followed.

Ian supposed no matter what happened, he'd be able to get through this. However, the thought of never being able to see the Gallagher house again, even with all of the fucked-up shit that had happened there over the years, pained him terribly. As dysfunctional as they all were - Frank with his benders, Monica leaving for years at a time, and both of them doing and selling drugs - he and his siblings had all gone through this together, and he would never trade those for anything else.

He hoped he'd at least get to explain to them, or the next time he saw his attorney, that they might be able to figure out some workaround. He wanted anything to avoid the painful knot that developed in his stomach at the thought of having to choose between the Gallaghers and Mickey yet again.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, after they ate and showered, Ian and Mickey returned to their cells, Ian in a glum mood. While they had more than enough time to talk about a large portion of what they had gone through in their most recent stretch apart, Ian filling Mickey in on how Carl had ambitions to go to West Point, Lip worked at Born Free Cycles and had stayed on the wagon, and Liam was doing well in school, they avoided significant further discussion of what would happen after they got out.

Mickey was keen to pick up on this. “What’s with you, Gallagher? You barely said shit at chow, and now you look like you just got 10 years added to your time. Spill.”

Ian was slow to answer. “It’s just that…you mentioned once you get out, you’ll be shipped wherever they decide to send you, or where the rest of your family chose. You seemed really sure I will be able to go with you. Is that even right? Will I be stuck there while I can never see or talk to you again? And what happens to MY family?”

“Sure you can come with me,” Mickey said, perhaps too confidently. He paused for a minute longer, looking like he was putting more thought into his next words than was typical of him. “I mean, part of the deal I had negotiated with the feds was to be locked up with you and get the same sentence. I did this much, so I may have another trick up my sleeve.”

Ian’s heart sank. “So…what you’re saying is you have no fucking idea if I’ll be able to go with you to your new city? After this, we just split ways and act like nothing ever fucking happened between us?” His voice started to shake. “You came back from Mexico to see me. I tried to make it up to you for being shitty. I can’t fucking do this.”

Mickey smiled. “Damn, Gallagher, you sure have a way of jumping to the wrong conclusions. You really think I’d get my ass carted off in witness protection with no fucking exit strategy for where, how and what of afterward? I got your back, man. Always have, always will. Before we get out, or soon after, we can have a judge perform a short ceremony for us. It’s not a fucking piece of paper if it’s what we need in order to skip town.”

“You…” Ian started. “The fuck…? I…didn’t think you believed in that sort of thing.”

“Did I fucking stutter when I told you parents, spouses, siblings and kids of people in the program can go with them? I figured they ain’t gonna jump at letting you go with me if I say we’ve just been fucking each other for the last decade. Besides…like I said before, you’re under my skin. I wouldn’t have thrown my ass on the legal system for you if I wasn’t in it for the long haul. We just gotta figure out the legal fuckery of it before we do it.”

“Holy fuck,” Ian breathed. “You really want to marry me.”

Mickey shrugged. “Fuck yeah, Gallagher. It was a piece of fucking paper when I got hitched to Svetlana, but I didn’t exactly have much choice in the matter then, did I? Being locked up, running off to Mexico – gave me plenty of goddamn time to think about it and what I wanted. You got me through that shit.”

Ian could tell Mickey was starting to get emotional, and the smaller man took a deep breath. “I fucking meant it when I said that what you and I have makes me free, not what any other assholes around us think or know.”

Mickey embraced Ian, who by this point had tears starting to stream down his face.

“But it ain’t simple as all that. I talked to my guy again after work detail last week. The catch will be they don’t think the rest of your family’ll be able to come. The program ain’t cheap for the feds and it’s partly that, partly they see no reason to cart your huge-ass family to a new city when you’re a legal adult. I also don’t know if it’s legal for two inmates to get married to each other in Illinois, so we need to talk to our lawyers and anybody else. Maybe we could do it before we leave,” Mickey said.

Ian was heartsick. While he was overjoyed Mickey was willing to get married to him so they’d be able to stay together once they got out, this put him in the same dilemma he was in when he was torn between fleeing to Mexico with Mickey or going home to his family and stable job.

It was too dangerous for Mickey to be in gen pop, or out on the streets, unless he had a new identity. Drug cartels had tentacles everywhere. As it was, only security in Beckman kept Mickey safe now. He wouldn’t dream of asking Mickey to stay with him if it meant he‘d be in danger for the rest of his life.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Ian started. “I meant it, too, when I said you’ve been it and I was kidding myself when I thought I could have a future with another guy after you went away. I just…they’re my family. Fiona, Lip, Carl, Debbie and Liam? God, even fucking Frank. And then there’s V and Kev, who might as well be fucking Gallaghers. They came to say goodbye to me when I went in. Except Fiona. I obviously fucking want to marry you, but that’s a lot to fucking digest at once.”

Mickey seemed hurt, but his expression softened. “I get it. We Milko- err, McGuires were never as close as you Gallaghers, but even then, I won’t have to leave them behind once I’m out. I asked about them. Turns out Iggy, Joey and Mandy decided to enter. They can’t tell me yet where they put ‘em. Our fucking shithead of a father is still in the house on South Trumbull. The Marshals came over, and he told them to leave him the fuck alone.”

Ian laughed. “What the fuck?”

Mickey nodded. “Yep, he said he didn’t want to fucking get involved with my faggy shit and he’s too old to want to move, so he wants to just live there until he dies. Don’t know what happened with Colin and Jamie, since they’re out on their own and we haven’t even heard from them in a couple of years. Probably in jail someplace.”

Ian had to laugh at this. “Fucking asshole.”

It dawned on Ian that he hadn’t heard from Fiona in the month since he went in. She had gone to bat for Ian when much of the rest of the family seemed to be wrapped up in their own shit. Fiona told Ian about how she had been trying to scoop together bail money until Ian’s “followers” stepped in with their crowdfunding proceeds.

Fiona spoke up on his behalf when she told off Geneva for trying to get Ian to go through a lengthy trial, but when it came time for Ian to go to jail, she was nowhere to be found. He hoped she was okay.

 

* * *

 

With Mickey camped out in front of their small-ass TV watching a rerun of “South Park,” Ian sat down with a notepad and began writing a letter to Fiona.

Wanting to choose his words very carefully and knowing anything he sent would be intercepted by several prison officials, he began writing out his thoughts to his sister in his messy scrawl.

 

_Dear Fiona,_

_I’m doing well in here. Things have been better than I thought they’d be. Lip came by to see me last week, and I’m sure he’s probably told you why by now. He was so shocked I thought he was going to fall off the chair, but he said he’s happy for me. Don’t be mad – I know you and he had your differences, and I know you weren’t a huge fan of him. But I’m happy._

_How have you been? I was just wondering since you didn’t come to say goodbye to me on the day I went in. Hope everything is okay. I just wanted to say sorry again for all of the stupid shit I put you through. I’m even sorry about the ice water in the bed._

_There’s something else real important I want to talk to you about. Stop by and visit me the next time you have a chance – I know you’re probably busy with landlord stuff._

_Love, Ian_

 

After sealing the letter and handing it to a CO to be mailed, Ian thought quietly, sitting on the top bunk while Mickey chuckled at his program over the muffled sounds of voices outside their cell. It was a welcome distraction, he supposed, from the possibility of losing Ian again if he decided not to come with Mickey.

Ian was glad he and Mickey were able to, at long last, see a way to have a future together after all they’d been through, but he’d ultimately have to discuss this with his lawyer to know for sure what cost his choice would end up having - but that was a discussion for another night.

_Gallaghers, Ian thought to himself. We never find the easy way to do anything, do we?_


	4. Time

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ian experienced a renewed sense of hope, but like events in his past, it was tinged with uncertainty and dread. Like so many other things in his life, he had to lose so much to gain anything worthwhile.

Still, the prospect of Ian and Mickey with a new life together, without any criminal records, was agonizingly close, yet out of reach for now.

The logistics of how they’d make this work would be another matter. But Ian swore this time, when he told Mickey he’d wait, he’d mean it. He owed it to him after what they’d been through.

 

* * *

 

Before heading to dinner that night, Ian and Mickey spoke again about the prospect of getting married. During his next discussion with Phil Garcia, his attorney who had represented him in court on the arson charges, Ian planned to ask him if it was legal for inmates to marry each other in Illinois. He called Garcia and arranged to meet in Beckman later that week.

In the PC unit, he and Mickey had generous phone privileges, so he tried calling Fiona’s cell again. It went to voicemail. Dismayed, he left her a message to call back and confirm she’d gotten Ian’s letter.

Fiona, of all people, needed to know what Ian and Mickey had planned, but Ian didn’t want to see the look of sadness on her face when he told her he’d might go into WITSEC. It pained him to think about essentially abandoning his family of origin.

Ian realized something else about life in Beckman Correctional: there really wasn’t much to do aside from working out, recalling Mickey’s earlier words. But at least this time he had sex with Ian - really good sex - to fill time.

The sex was as good as ever, and for that alone, Ian was grateful Mickey was back in his life. Lip had put more money in Ian’s commissary, so he bought the bulk of extra items he and Mickey wanted or needed, like lube, Snickers bars or extra shampoo, as well as some nicotine patches for both himself and Mickey.

Using as much of the allotted shower time as he dared, Ian attempted to wash more of the detested black dye out of his hair, but to no avail. He’d have to buzz it off, as he told Mickey he’d have the prison barber do. He’d just call it a throwback to his old Army days, even though he knew Mickey loved playing with his longer hair, entwining his fingers in the strands, as Ian sucked his cock.

The lube, especially, served them well in times like this, when Ian was prepping Mickey to be fucked hard. They’d done it this morning before they knew Williams would be coming to wake them for breakfast, and they’d timed their fucking so they’d be in a decent state of dress when he arrived.

“Mmm...” Mickey groaned into the pillow as Ian slid one slicked-up finger into his tight hole. He was a sight to behold as he writhed on the blankets they’d placed on the floor. Mickey and Ian had decided to start having sex that way so they wouldn’t constantly have to risk falling off the top bunk, or hitting their heads and concussing themselves (spoiling the mood) on the bottom one.

Ian angled and curled his finger to hit Mickey’s sensitive prostate, coaxing a stream of whines and curses from his eager bottom.

“Ohhhhh...fuck yeah, keep doing that. Fuck, that feels so good, Ian,” Mickey moaned.

“Yeah?” Ian enjoyed making Mickey wait for it like this, waiting until Mickey had stopped whining before he slid a second finger into the slick, tight opening.

“You like how my fingers feel inside of you? Can’t imagine you’re satisfied with just these. You want something else, don’t you?” Ian teased.

Mickey cursed. His blue eyes, glassy with a mixture of desire, lust and admiration, stared up from the smaller man’s prone position, ass in the air with his head turned to the side.

“Fuck you. Just fuck me already,” Mickey groaned.

Ian chuckled. “Fuck me? You’re the bottom, not me.”

He kept teasing Mickey some more, leaning toward to lick around his fingers in his partner’s stretched opening.

”Sorry, that was just too easy. And I like doing that to you. Seeing you so worked up is so fucking sexy,” Ian murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Mickey huffed. “Fine. Just keep licking me out while you’re down there. And maybe one of these days, I’ll top you, but sorry not sorry if I like your huge cock too much to want to change it up.”

Ian removed his fingers and did what Mickey asked, burying his face in between the alabaster mounds of the smaller man’s ass cheeks to lick the pink, puckered opening they concealed.

Mickey cried out, stifling his noises in the pillow while writhing on the bunched-up blanket on the floor.

“Fuck!” Mickey groaned, as he felt Ian spread his cheeks with his hands so he could stick his tongue inside him.

Part of Ian was enjoying this too much to want to stop, but the ache in his cock became too much to ignore. He also wanted to give his normally bossy bottom a rough, hard fuck where he called the shots.

“No more words from you, huh? Let’s see how well you take this,” Ian said.

Without warning, Ian positioned himself behind Mickey, took his own cock in his hand and thrust hard into the smaller man’s receptive opening.

Mickey bit into his knuckles to keep another loud moan from escaping, but the muffled “fuck” carried loudly enough that Ian hoped the COs were busy elsewhere.

Mickey huffed, grunted and groaned as Ian fucked him hard, slamming their hips together. Ian enjoyed watching Mickey’s ass jiggle from the force of their hard fucking, and all of Mickey’s body, laid out as he took everything Ian had to give him, was a sight for sore eyes.

Ian wanted to drag this out as long as possible and enjoy Mickey’s body for longer, but he felt himself getting closer. He fucked harder into Mickey, feeling the older man writhe and pant harder.

His muscles tightened as Mickey began to come, his cock spurting a long, white stream onto the blanket without being touched. The blue-eyed man shuddered in ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so hot. I love you,” Ian breathed out, feeling Mickey’s hole spasm around him.

Realizing what he’d said and hoping it wasn’t too much, he kept fucking into Mickey until he reached his release as well. Ian groaned as he emptied himself into Mickey.

Just then, the sound of loud pounding on their cell door made both men nearly jump out of their skin.

“M! Gallagher! Dinner. You got two minutes.”

Even if the person on the other side of the door hadn’t looked through the window and seen what they’d been doing, the shuffling and stifled curses from inside the cell didn’t help the situation. Ian yelled, “Yes, CO! Be right there!”

He grabbed wildly in the blanket for Mickey’s boxers and jumpsuit, while Mickey cursed and hastily put them back on, throwing the pillow and blanket back on the bunk they came from.

Hoping against hope it was Williams, who seemed decent and never gave them a hard time, they shuffled guiltily to the cell door.

The door opened. A tall, burly CO with an annoyed-looking demeanor, a man neither Ian nor Mickey had seen before, was standing on the other side.

Ian said nothing and hoped Mickey would do the same. Thankfully, Mickey kept any smartass remarks to himself.

“Dinner. Let’s go,” was all the unfamiliar new CO, whose tag identified him as Copeland, said as he escorted them down the corridor toward the mess hall.

Ian and Mickey walked single file down the walkway, not daring to talk. This Copeland guy seemed to be a man of few words, and Ian couldn’t read him aside from looking pissed - but without having seen him before, it could have been resting bitch face.

Once they reached the dinner line, Ian quickly selected some chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, juice and an extra Jell-O for Mickey before settling down to eat.

“Fuck, that was close. We gotta be more careful - I don’t know who this Copeland guy is, but he looked pissed,” Ian told Mickey.

A slight, dark-haired inmate sitting at the end of their table overheard their conversation.

”Copeland? Just transferred in here early this week. Word is his brother’s also CO at one of the women’s prisons in the state, but I’m not sure which one he’s at,” the inmate said.

“How is he? A hardass, someone we gotta watch our backs around?” Ian asked.

“Dunno. He don’t talk much, just stomps around like he hates everybody and everything,” the guy answered. “I’m Greg.”

“Ian, and this is Mick,” Ian answered, glad this guy seemed decent. He was also glad he could still call Mickey by his first name, even if he was a McGuire now.

“Sweet,” Greg said. “I got work detail down in the laundry room. Just came from there. It’s not bad, but I lost track of how many gross cum rags I came across tossed in the sheets.”

Ian and Mickey both snorted.

“That’s fucking lovely,” Mickey said. “Sounds about right for jail, though. I work in here, doing dishes, cleaning and shit. Ian’s in commissary.”

They made small talk for the rest of dinner, with Ian careful about sharing too much or giving too much that could identify who they were. For all he knew, though, Greg might not really be who he said he was, since he was in the PC unit. As it was, the gaffe with Copeland was one they didn’t need. They had to be much more careful.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived back at their cell, Duncan alerted Ian that a letter had arrived. Ian took it and saw it was from Fiona. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he’d heard from his sister and would find out why she missed his farewell.

Ian tore open the envelope to read:

 

_Dear Ian,_

_I’m so fucking sorry I missed you when you got dropped off in jail. I’m a fuckup and wasn’t there when you needed me. I fucked up really bad. I got in over my head, made a shitty investment and lost the building, and as the cherry on top of the shit sundae, I found out Ford is married. There’s more, but I’m okay and didn’t want to worry you._

_I found out about your situation from Lip. How did that happen? I thought it all went south for the winter. We need to talk in person._

_I’m glad to hear you’re doing well and adjusting. At least you’re only in for two years. Are they giving you your meds? Sorry, I know you hate when I ask you, but I had to - I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask that. I’d love to come see you. How does Wednesday sound? Hope they’re feeding you well. Be careful._

_Love, Fiona_

 

Ian chuckled at Fiona’s veiled reference to Mickey, and he knew Lip had passed the message on. Since Ian couldn’t talk openly about Mickey without compromising his safety, Ian had arranged for his lawyer to intercept Lip before visiting Ian that day - where Garcia presumably filled Lip in on all of the details of Mickey, WITSEC, and everything else. Ian used the fact that his conversations with his lawyer were confidential to his advantage.

Ian wasn’t sure how to feel about Fiona’s latest turn of misfortune. The apartment building had long been a bone of contention between Fiona and much of the Gallagher clan, himself especially when it came to a head with that fight over the old church building.

Fiona, like all of the Gallaghers, was too proud to ask for help, but when she crashed, she crashed hard. If nothing else, the silver lining was that she’d be around more if she had to move back home. Even so, Ian felt for her, because in many ways she was like himself - facing terrible odds, working so hard, only to lose it all in the end. But Fiona was a fighter, a warrior. Ian knew she’d get back up.

Ian poked Mickey. “Fiona got back to me. She got herself into some shit, but she’s coming to visit on Wednesday.”

“Cool,” Mickey said. “She know about me?”

“I asked my lawyer to meet Lip before he came to see me here last week. I did it so nobody would be able to listen in on them while they talked. Lip told Fiona,” Ian answered.

Mickey nodded in acknowledgement. “They pissed that you’re with me?"

Ian sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t say much in a letter, because I know there will be four or five dudes who‘ll read it before it gets to the person it’s for. Fiona’s going through hell, and now I get to dump on her head how I might be moving and probably never will see her again.”

“You got time to think about that,” Mickey said. “I just want to know you’re in this for the long haul. If you need to, I can meet up with my folks and you can come later. Once we’re both out, the inmate marriage thing won’t be an issue.”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “But you know what? The time away from you made me realize something. I don’t want to lose you again, and if they are upset, I don’t care. You didn’t care what your family thought, and you sacrificed so much for me. I’m an idiot for not realizing, and for my stupid shit. Yes, I’ll go with you. Yes, I want to fucking marry you.”

“Hey,” Mickey said, putting his arm around Ian. “I love you, too. Wouldn’t have said that shit if I didn’t mean it. And it’s just time - we’ve got a fuckton of it here. It’ll go by soon enough.”

Ian and Mickey kissed gently, happy that things, for once, actually did seem to be going their way. Never did Ian imagine he’d come to love the rough-talking, shoplifting hoodlum who’d burst into the Kash and Grab all those years ago, yelling about Ian screwing with Mandy. Ian thought he was going to get his face bashed in.

Yet, here they were: crazy about each other, years older and talking about a future. Life was odd like that, but still, stranger things had happened. He was a Gallagher, after all.


	5. Payback

The following day, Ian was in the commissary, helping take inventory of the bags of snacks that had just arrived, when Williams poked his head into the room to address him.

“Inmate Gallagher? You have a visitor.”

Knowing it was likely his sister, Ian walked with Williams to the visiting area of the PC unit. He saw Fiona, as sharply-dressed as she had been the last time he saw her, but looking rather bedraggled, with her arm in an air cast. Ian saw now why she had written that she “didn’t want to worry him”. She was doing so well, so Ian wondered what had happened this time.

Ian sat down and picked up the phone. “What happened to you?” Ian asked Fiona. He noticed she had traces of faded bruises on her face.

“It’s...a long story,” she said. “Don’t ask.”

Being a Gallagher, Ian took that to mean Fiona had done something illegal.

“Hey, as long as you’re okay now. I miss you guys. How is everything at home?” Ian asked. “How’s Liam in school?”

Fiona sighed. “Aside from Ford being a giant bag of dicks? Peachy. And now I owe my ass to Max Whitford, of all people, for getting me out of a 25k hole. At least I still have Patsy’s, but I feel like such a fuckup. So much for me becoming real estate mogul of the South Side.”

“Damn,” Ian said. “Have you moved back home?”

“Yeah. I haven’t got a pot to piss in now, because all of this shit cost so much to get straightened out,” she said. “But yeah, Liam’s doing well. Super smart. Let’s hope he can avoid turning out like Frank, because he sure isn’t like Monica.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah, we already have one Gallagher who turned out like Monica. That was one too many. But, anyway: you know how I said in the letter that something’s up? Remember how you talked about going ‘south for the winter?’ It’s about that. There’s more.”

Fiona was pleased that Ian had gotten her reference to Mickey in the letter she sent Ian.

“You know how that situation played out? I might be going, too. Not south, but moving. We haven’t figured out details, yet, but there’s a good chance I’ll be leaving Chicago after I get out so we can be together,” Ian said. “If I do leave, I wouldn’t be able to come home.”

“Oh, fuck,” Fiona said. “You’re serious about this.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. Fiona, I wasn’t happy. And I won’t be if I don’t go. You saw how good he was to me when I was in the psych ward, and getting me on my meds. I honestly don’t think I‘d be in jail if the Sammi mess hadn’t happened.”

Fiona sighs. “I admit I didn’t know what you saw in him. Remember how I said I thought he’d light a match to your life? I was thinking of my own life and how Jimmy/Steve made me feel. That went up in flames for sure. You were different. You had your life in order and were doing so well without him.”

“Well, you were right, Fiona. I found out what happens when nothing gives you that same spark again. Life doesn’t mean much,” Ian said. “I was lost. I got into that movement because I was trying to find a purpose, a greater meaning. I didn’t know what to do, Fiona. I was lost without him. I tried to forget him, but couldn’t. I just never talked about it to anyone.”

Fiona looked like she was fighting back tears.

“Oh, Ian...I’m so sorry. I cared for you since you were a kid - since that time Frank abandoned us and I had to rush you to that clinic when your head was burning up with fever,” she said. “But you’re an adult now. You do what makes you happy. If you want to leave when you get out, I can’t stop you. But we won’t stop fucking missing you.”

Ian touched his hand to the glass. Fiona did the same.

“Thanks. I just wanted to say again, thanks for everything. I love you. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this, and I’m sorry for everything. I just had to tell you in person before we might not be able to talk anymore,” Ian said. “I’ll fucking miss you.”

Just then, Williams came back to get Ian, and another guard came in to escort Fiona out.

“Bye, Fiona. I’ll write you again soon. I love you,” Ian said.

 

* * *

 

When he arrived back at his cell, Mickey was still on his work detail. This gave Ian some time to think about the winding road that led Mickey and himself to where they were now. He considered the relationships in his family - from Frank and Monica, Fiona and Jimmy/Steve, and Mickey and himself.

From an outsider’s point of view, he and Mickey might seem to be destructive. They broke each other’s hearts, hurt each other more times than they cared to remember, but always found their way back to each other. From his family’s point of view, he was too good for Mickey, but Ian realized the very opposite was true: Mickey was too good for him.

As loyal as the Gallaghers were to each other, they tended to have a blind spot when it came to seeing their shortcomings. They were all fuckups, but were too proud to admit it. They were survivors through and through, but damn it all if they didn’t hit rock bottom hard.

That was what Ian liked about the Milkoviches - they were fuckups and owned it, never trying to be anything else. Mickey was South Side trash through and through, but had a heart of gold in spite of the shit life threw his way. He wondered how such an abused, mistreated creature as Mickey could still have such a capacity to care for and love Ian like he did.

And did life ever deal them both shit sandwiches. Ian went from being a bubbly, ambitious teenager to a broken, damaged young man. Life in the South Side took his innocence, tore him down when he least expected it. Some of it was out of his control, and he couldn’t help being born to Frank and Monica - rather, Clayton and Monica - or having bipolar disorder.

But Ian made bad choices, too. He hurt too many people to be loved. He wondered how anyone could see anything in him, let alone put his own life in danger to come to Ian’s aid in his darkest times. Yet, Mickey did that more than once. It was time to pay it forward.

 

* * *

 

Some time later, Mickey returned from his shift in the mess hall, accompanied by Duncan. “How was your visit with your sister?” Mickey asked as the cell door closed behind him.

“Not so good. She thought she was the next big thing in real estate, bought an apartment and all this other shit, but forgot she was born without a silver spoon in her mouth like those rich fucks she tried to run with,” Ian mused. “She‘ll have to sell the building and move home. She also got pretty banged up. Don’t know what happened.”

Mickey shrugged. “More South Side shit, right? It’ll be nice to get away from all of that. Granted I’m probably still fucked for life, but maybe if you can help keep me straight, I can fuck up not as bad this time around.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah. I told Fiona, as well as I could with other people listening in, I might be moving away with you once we get out of here. Obviously, she wasn’t thrilled, but she said I’m an adult and can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You said you need me to keep you straight. You know what, Mick? I need you just as much, and it was when you weren’t there I couldn’t keep it together. We just...make things work together. And I like it,” Ian continued.

Raising an eyebrow, Mickey grinned at him. “You finally caught on, Firecrotch. At least I can still call you that.”

The former redhead grinned at the shorter man. “I guess I could get used to waking up next to your ass in whatever city we get shipped off to. I’ll see Mandy again. And Iggy. Remember when Iggy fucking barged into your room when I was about to blow you? I thought you were gonna murder him.”

“Fucker would’ve had it coming, busting in my room without knocking. Maybe I should’ve just let him see our gay sex shit and he’d know not to fucking do that. Or I should’ve emptied that Ruger clip in his fat fucking face, like I said,” Mickey grumbled.

Ian tackled Mickey and pulled him down onto the lower bunk. “Don’t, or your ass will go back to jail without me. Then all our planning will be shot.”

“But you love my ass,” Mickey teased.

“That I do,” Ian said, sticking out his tongue at his smaller partner again.

“Speaking of which,” Mickey said. “You wanna go for another round, or are you too worn out from this morning?”

Ian sighed. “Would I like to? Of fucking course I would. But we have to be careful. Copeland fucking caught us this morning, and even if the COs have to kind of expect that inmates are gonna bang in here, we can’t just do it when any one of a couple different guards could just fucking waltz in here and see us.”

Mickey considered this for a bit. “Yeah...but Copeland probably fucking saw us with our asses and dicks hanging out, and didn’t seem to fucking give a shit. Of the two of us, who’s the one who’s been in and of the can since he was old enough to fuck? Doubt they give enough of a shit here to care.”

“I guess,” Ian said slowly. “But those other times, you weren’t a fucking cartel informant, either. Speaking of which, when are they going to have you in court to testify?”

Mickey paused. “My lawyer and the DA’ll keep me updated. They’re supposed to meet me in the next couple weeks. I guess there were issues with jurisdiction and shit. Cook County State’s Attorney is arguing she has jurisdiction because a lot of the Mendez cartel’s shit ends up on the streets here. She said they‘ll get me extra security before I testify in case anybody tries to start shit. Hope it don’t mean I’m in solitary for 23 hours a day - for some dudes who testify against cartels, they do that to make sure they get as much as they can before somebody tries to off ‘em.”

Ian looked worried. “You think anybody will try anything? I don’t want to see you locked up by yourself, either.”

“Not sure. Nobody said nothing to me, but these guys were small-time compared to fucking El Chapo. It wasn’t like I was working for his dudes or nothing. Besides, I got their word they’ll try to keep us together until I get shipped off to my folks. If they put me in the hole, it won’t be forever. Thoughts of you were what got me through last time, so at least this time I know there’s an end to it.”

Ian felt guilty, his heart sore again at the thought of Mickey in prison alone, heartbroken, not knowing when or if he’d ever see Ian again. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mickey. If I could, I’d fucking spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to.”

Mickey leaned in to kiss him. “You’re here now. You ain’t bailing on me this time, so that’s good enough. You do, and I swear to fuck I’ll hunt you down and kick your ass. And if they kill me, I’ll haunt your ass.”

Ian smiled, interpreting this as a very Mickey-like acceptance of his apology. He let it go, hoping to continue their talk about the future instead of rehashing this.

“Have you heard anything else about the possibility of us getting married? I’m supposed to meet Garcia in a couple of days and I plan to ask him while he’s here,” Ian asked.

“Nope. But I plan to make this work no matter how we end up doing it,” Mickey said. “Stop fucking worrying so much.”

Ian pulled the smaller man in to him, squeezing his larger frame closer into him on the bed. “I love you. I mean it. We Gallaghers pull fucked-up shit, but after everything it took to get us back together this time, I’m going to fight no matter what it takes. I can’t lose you again.”

Mickey smiled. For now, that was enough. “Hey, enough of this sappy-ass chit-chat. You wanna go another round or not?”

Ian wanted to fuck Mickey again, but in the interest of being more discreet, and wanting to give Mickey a treat all about making it up to him, he had another idea. “Just lie back and I’ll make it up to you,” Ian said. “Take off your jumpsuit and wrap yourself up in the blanket.”

Mickey obliged. After unbuttoning his jumpsuit, taking off his prison garb and leaving just his boxers on, he dove under the blanket and buried himself in the material until just his face was sticking out. His blue eyes blinked inquisitively at Ian, who chuckled at the Mickey burrito staring up at him.

“Fucking silly,” Ian said. “Just keep most of yourself covered so you can stay warm. I want you to lie back and enjoy this.”

Mickey took the blanket off his head. Ian climbed on top of Mickey and kissed his partner’s soft, pink lips, deepening the kiss when he felt Mickey moan into his mouth. He’d missed this so much, and no one else but Mickey made him this crazy. Ian moved down, lavishing attention on Mickey’s neck but taking care not to leave visible marks.

He took one of Mickey’s hands, the right one with “FUCK” tattooed on the knuckles, and seductively began sucking Mickey’s fingers, one after the other, into his mouth. He then peppered his lover’s chest with kisses, lingering on the crude ink of his name over Mickey’s heart - where it always would be, figuratively and literally. It took him long enough to realize, Ian thought. What a fool.

After getting the not-so-subtle message of Mickey’s hand pushing down on his head, trying to get him to move considerably lower on his body, Ian slapped the hand away.

“Stop,” Ian scolded. “I said to just lie back and enjoy this.”

Mickey grumbled, but put his hand back down at his side, uncharacteristically without another word.

“That’s better.” Ian said. “You’ll be rewarded if you’re patient.”

Ian turned his attention to Mickey’s left nipple, and nipped at the little pink bud, which had already grown hard from exposure to the cold air. He took it in his mouth and swirled his tongue, coaxing a hiss out of his partner, before repeating the same with the other.

Ian, wanting to keep building the anticipation, moved his right hand onto the older man’s hip, squishing his fingers into the layer of skin. He leaned in to lick his partner’s stomach, kneading the hints of love handles around Mickey’s middle and leaving little crescent marks from his nails in the pale skin.

“Gallagher! Quit fucking playing with my fat and suck my dick,” Mickey complained.

“Quiet, you,” Ian said. “Besides, I love your body. And you aren’t fat. You have a great, sexy body and I love playing with all of it.”

Mickey smiled. “Fine, Gallagher. Just get on with it. Fuck.”

Ian obviously hadn’t forgotten about where Mickey most wanted his mouth, so he turned his attention to the smaller man’s boxers, the tented material strained with a leaking wet spot from the dripping pre-cum. Ian pulled the waistband down and cupped Mickey’s straining erection, red and almost angry-looking, in his hand as Mickey groaned and moved his fingers back to Ian’s hair.

Ian took Mickey’s engorged cock in one hand, using the other to cup his partner’s balls, feeling how warm they were as he rolled them in his palm as pre-cum beaded at the tip of his cock. Ian took Mickey’s head into his mouth, sucked it lightly, and teased the sensitive frenulum with his tongue. Mickey cried out and tightened his grip in Ian’s dark locks, with a harsh, guttural cry of “Fuck...”

Ian worked the base of Mickey’s cock with his right hand, continuing to tease and caress his balls with the other. He then swallowed his partner’s cock to the base, enjoying the feeling of the thick flesh stretching his lips and throat. He tightened his throat muscles around it before pulling back and repeating, lips glistening with a mix of saliva and pre-cum.

“Mmm,” Mickey groaned. “I’m getting close already.”

Ian pulled off of Mickey’s cock with a soft popping sound. “Where do you want to finish?” Ian asked his partner.

“I want to cum all over your face. Or swallow it, I don’t give a fuck, just let me finish,” Mickey said, his breath hitching.

Ian turned his attention back to what he was doing, taking Mickey’s head into his mouth and swallowing his shaft to the base. Mickey’s fingers returned to Ian’s hair and tightened as he began to come, a stifled gasp escaping his throat. Hot spurts of Mickey’s release, and the slightly bitter taste, filled Ian’s mouth. Swallowing all Mickey had to give, Ian pulled off and licked his cock clean.

Mickey sighed, content, as Ian covered his smaller partner with the blanket and cuddled up next to him. “Damn, that was good,” Mickey said.

“I just wanted to make you feel good...focus on you, and just you,” Ian told him, kissing Mickey on the cheek. “It’s the least I could do. I love you. Just please understand whatever happens in the next couple of years, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hey, I ain’t complaining,” Mickey said. “Just thought maybe you’d want to take care of that wood pressing into my ass. And by the way, I love you too, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled. “Let’s wait until lights out. For now, I just want to stay like this with you. But at least put your clothes back on - we can just watch TV.”

They set up their TV and turned on Adult Swim, Ian carefree in knowing they could enjoy each other’s company like this. Fingers entwined, unperturbed by sounds coming from the corridor outside, Ian thought to himself, bemused, that jail hadn’t been half bad so far.


	6. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for reading!

It was a late afternoon when Garcia paid a visit to Beckman, as Ian had arranged. The couple had been chatting with Greg, Big Pete and Medium Pete in the prison yard, watching as several other inmates began a game of basketball, when Duncan alerted Ian to Garcia’s arrival. Once the CO had gone, Mickey went to the side of the building to smoke a cigarette he’d bummed off of one of the other guys in the unit.

Ian and Garcia were escorted into one of the private rooms designated for that purpose. As the door shut behind them, Garcia opened his briefcase, pulled a stack of papers out of it, and set them down on the table. He offered to grab Ian a coffee, which Ian declined.

“Okay, so I got your call that you wanted to meet up. I got about half an hour to talk, and then I have to head down to the courthouse for another appointment,” Garcia explained.

“Sure. Hopefully this won’t take too long. What I wanted to ask you was...my cellmate and I have known each other since we were kids. Until the last few months or so, he’d been in Mexico. The feds gave him a deal where he rolled on a cartel specifically to be put in the same cell as me,” Ian started.

Garcia took a sip of his coffee, a blank expression on his face as he digested this information.

“I see. Go on, Ian,” Garcia said.

“So he’s in the PC unit with me. They put him in WITSEC and they already moved his family to their new city. He asked me to go with him, and he thinks the only way I’d be able to is if I marry him. Can two inmates legally get married in Illinois?”

A very pregnant pause filled the air. Ian couldn’t quite read the expression on Garcia’s face, and Ian realized he probably caught his attorney off-guard.

Garcia explained to Ian that, although the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in favor of marriage equality in 2015, to his knowledge there had not been any same-sex marriage licenses issued in Cook County in which both of the parties were inmates.

“They had been talking about taking another look at this and having a plan on the books after _Obergefell v. Hodges_ ,” Garcia said, referring to the landmark court case that made same-sex marriage legal in all 50 U.S. states.

“Really?” Ian asked. “What did they end up doing?”

“Hold on a minute. Illinois does, unfortunately, have a law on the books saying inmates are not permitted to marry each other. They were supposed to have a plan in place to deal with a situation like this since _Obergefell_ , but to my knowledge, you’d be the first in Cook County,” Garcia said. ”I could look into whether your constitutional right to marry would overrule state law, but your case would be tied up in the legal system for longer than you would be in jail.”

Ian’s face fell. “Fuck. So nothing could happen until one or both of us are released? What happens if Mickey enters witness protection and leaves before I’m out? I don’t think the U.S. Marshals would be able to tell me where they put him.”

“Who’s your cellmate?” Garcia asked.

“Mickey Milkovich. Well, he was. Now they’re the McGuires. They took that new last name and most of the family went with the Marshals into the program,” Ian responded. “His dad is still living in the South Side because he opted not to leave.”

“Milkovich? You mean the son of Terry? Broke out of prison a couple of years back and it was all over the news?” Garcia asked.

Ian nodded, and Garcia just whistled.

“Well, then,” the attorney finally said. He paused for a bit longer, as if thinking of how best to answer Ian’s question while remaining tactful. Ian suspected he was about to get an earful.

“To be honest, odds are you‘ll get out before your cellmate does. A cartel informant who originally went away for 8-15 for attempted murder? I’m guessing that wasn’t his first offense?” Garcia asked.

Ian nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, he must have given the feds something big. Then again, the innocent bystander in witness protection you see in Hollywood is mostly bullshit. The vast majority of protected witnesses who enter the program have records, some of it big-time stuff, and a large number of them don’t get any time at all in exchange for their cooperation. But since you’re a first-time offender and pled down to ‘guilty but insane,’ I’d say you have a good chance of early release, but I can’t promise anything. They probably will cut some time off due to overcrowding or good behavior. Happens a lot, and you will be eligible for parole.”

“So, you think I’ll get out before Mickey does?” Ian asked, hopeful. “Also, will you look into anything else we might be able to do in terms of us getting married once I’m out?”

“Like I said, I can’t promise anything. Also, I have to warn you: be very, very careful. Inmate sex is a thing, and while they can’t stop it from happening since it’s so common, if anyone finds out you’re a couple, they‘ll likely separate you. Don’t get caught. Use discretion. I’d be surprised if you haven’t already got targets on your back, considering how high-profile both of your cases were,” Ian’s attorney warned.

“Basically, don’t be stupid. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t get cocky. Milkovich may have been able to break out of jail once, get to Mexico without getting caught and run with the Mendez cartel, but he may have messed with the wrong guys here. The cartels are not to be underestimated. If you piss them off, it very well may be the last thing you do. The PC unit can protect you, but you don’t know who might be coming or going.”

With that, Garcia returned the stack of papers to his briefcase. “I’ll look into this some more about getting the marriage license, but in the meantime, please listen to what I said. You need to keep your noses clean to get through this. I mean it. Don’t get careless.”

“Thanks. We will,” Ian told him.

Ian wasn’t sure if his chat with Garcia made him feel better or worse. He felt reassured in knowing there was a way he and Mickey could get married before leaving to enter witness protection. Also, if they were married, Mickey had less to worry about in terms of Ian leaving him while he was on the outside. He figured Mickey had reason to not fully trust him. He didn’t blame him.

 

* * *

 

After lights out that night, Ian relayed to Mickey what Garcia had told him earlier that day. Mickey waited until Ian had said his piece before speaking.

“Okay, so we should be able to get hitched sometime after you get out. I’d be fine with doing it after I testify, before I leave. That way we can make sure we’re legally married, the ink is dry on the paper and everything’s in order before we leave Chicago,” Mickey said.

“I’d also have to make sure I can get married as a parolee, assuming I get out early,” Ian said. “There are restrictions on what parolees can do, and the state might not let me marry an inmate while on parole.”

Ian sighed. “But then again, once we’re both in witness protection, neither of us will have records anymore. Fuck. This could get really complicated.”

Mickey snorted. “Complicated? Our whole fucking relationship has been nothing but complicated,” he guffawed. “Fuck, we never do anything the simple way. I don’t think most couples can say fighting over a tire iron is foreplay.“

“Good point,” Ian said. “Besides, it’d be worth it. Our whole fucking existence together has been a waiting game - me waiting for you to get out of juvie, you waiting for me to stop being a jackass. We can wait some more. This way you’ll know I’m serious about you.”

Mickey smiled as Ian leaned in to his partner for a kiss.

“Oh - there’s something else Garcia mentioned when we were talking about the marriage thing. Garcia warned us we shouldn’t make it too obvious to anybody else here that we’re in a relationship. I don’t think we’ve been too obvious - guys in here fuck all the time - but he pointed out that you got cartel guys who got it out for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got it handled, and nobody’s even in here that I recognize. They all have the same ink,” Mickey said. “We’re isolated from most of the fucking prison here - if anybody else has any association with the dudes I used to run with, they’re in the same boat I am and just want to get outta here in one piece.”

Ian leaned back, repositioning himself on the bed. “Garcia also warned me about not making it too obvious we’re a couple. you think we’re safe? Copeland didn’t seem to give a shit, so I’m guessing most COs choose to look the other way.”

Mickey shrugged. “Not gonna worry myself over it. I’ve been fucking dudes while in the can since I was in juvie, and nobody gave a shit.”

“We still ought to be careful. I don’t want to wind up with some random as a cellie because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other long enough,” Ian said. “Not that that’s an easy thing to do, with you being you.”

Mickey smiled. “Hey, we got this. I told you. And once we get out, we can start a new life. I told you they gave Mandy, Iggy and Joey a stipend to get settled in their new place? I wonder how they’re doing. One of the conditions of staying in the program is not doing more illegal shit. I’m trying to picture Joey and Iggy behind a fucking desk at a 9-5 job.”

Ian burst out laughing. “I doubt it. They’re probably garbage men, laborers, construction or something where they can fly under the radar.”

Mickey agreed. “Yeah, hopefully they can keep out of shit. Hope they didn’t blab to anybody, either, or they could get moved someplace else.”

This late at night, it was actually peaceful in the PC unit, Ian mused. It was almost easy to forget they were in a prison, except for the size of the beds they crammed into at night and the rigid daily schedule - in some ways, it reminded him of the Army, he thought darkly, like some sort of sinister joke. Ian wondered again about the apartment they’d have when in witness protection.

“What do you think our life will be like on the outside, once we’re finally together?” Ian asked.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” Mickey said. “I thought it was just a fucking fantasy for so long, so I didn’t want to dwell on it too much and get fucking emotional again. But I’d really like to have our own little place, someplace cooler than Mexico.”

“I thought you liked Mexico - the beach and all that other shit you talked about?” Ian asked.

“Yeah, but when we were on the run, I wanted to see the beach, because I hadn’t yet. Saw plenty of it in a year and a half, though I wished you had been there to see it. Besides that, I’d like to get a pet. We never had any, ‘cause we didn’t want nothing else Dad could threaten if he got pissed. Maybe a cat.”

Ian grinned. “Would it have to be a ginger cat?”

Mickey punched Ian’s arm. “Fuck you.” He grinned. “Ya know, it’d be fucking hilarious to have a ginger cat and a black cat. Name ‘em after the two of us. Never thought I’d be talking like this when you first met me, huh, Gallagher?”

Ian smiled. “Nope. But I never thought we’d be having this conversation while locked up in a fucking prison, either.”

“Hey, you were the one who went all lord and savior on me. Guess it wasn’t enough to have your memories of me down on my knees in front of you all the time.” Mickey smirked.

“You’re fucking terrible,” Ian groaned.

“You fucking love it,” Mickey retorted. “And by the way, that was a promise, not just me bullshitting your ginger ass.”

Ian raised a red eyebrow. “Oh, really? Well, maybe then you should stop bullshitting and suck my cock.”

Mickey smirked before repositioning Ian’s body onto the bed, then scooting in between his long legs. Unbuttoning his jumpsuit, Mickey stroked Ian’s bare legs and groaned as he saw Ian’s boxers already tented out, a wet spot starting to form on them from the former redhead’s growing desire. He slipped his hand in between the waistband and Ian pale skin to pull out Ian’s already fully-erect, magnificent cock.

Ian’s rosy cockhead, thick and cut, tapered into the nine long inches Mickey loved so much. Mickey loved taking all of those inches inside of him, and the first time he saw it, he commented on how he couldn’t believe the skinny, lanky Ian Gallagher was packing this thing. Ian had grinned sheepishly, looking like the cat that ate the canary, and showed Mickey how yes, he did know how to use it. It was all over from there.

Mickey licked at the pre-cum beading at the tip of Ian’s slit before taking the thick cock into his throat, suppressing his gag reflex until his nose was buried in Ian’s ginger pubes. Ian gasped, trying his hardest not to be too loud, but Mickey’s mouth just felt too damned good.

His throat muscles constricted around Ian’s head and shaft as he swallowed, using them to caress Ian’s dick the way he liked it, then bobbed his head, allowing Ian to fuck his face.

Ian groaned in pleasure as his eyes rolled back into his head. Mickey’s hot, tight throat felt so good around his aching cock, the muscles massaging it just right, but something else would feel better around it.

“I want to fuck you,” Ian moaned. “God, I want you so bad. Please let me.”

Mickey moaned before pulling off. “Mmm. You’ve been good for me. I guess you can fuck me now.” He grinned goofily at Ian before stripping off his clothes and tossing them aside.

Mickey climbed onto the bunk, and lay on his back, legs spread invitingly for his partner. Ian bit his lip and stifled a moan at how delicious Mickey looked for him - pale skin, flushed face and cock bobbing from his recent movement.

Mickey reached a hand down to stroke his cock, his foreskin moving up and down the head as he jerked it slowly at first, then harder. He looked like such a fucking treat, Ian thought.

“Come here,” Mickey said. Ian didn’t have to be asked twice.

Slicking up his fingers with lube, Ian inserted one, then two fingers inside of Mickey to prep him, watching the tight hole loosened up as he worked it while Mickey kept stroking his cock, the tattooed letters on his fingers blurry with the moment.

Ian knew Mickey probably didn’t need much prep with how much sex they’d been having, so he lubed up his own hard, leaking shaft and lined up with Mickey’s opening.

Both of them moaned in unison as Ian sunk into Mickey’s hole, the inviting, warm tunnel opening up for him. Fuck, this always felt so good, Ian thought, and Mickey looked so delicious splayed for him underneath his own body on the bed. Ian pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside, before thrusting back in, burying himself balls deep inside the tight tunnel.

“Fuck. Pound me hard. I want to feel you bust inside me...fill my guts with your load,” Mickey said in a raspy voice. His dick oozed out another large bead of pre-cum to add to the puddle already on his stomach. “You’re so big, stretching out my little hole with your thick cock.”

Mickey always knew how to drive Ian crazy with the dirty talk. Ian pulled out all the way, his head released with a slight pop, watching as Mickey’s sphincter closed almost all the way before Ian pushed back inside, feeling the squeeze of Mickey’s ring of muscles around his sensitive cock head as he did so. Fuck. He wasn’t going to last.

Ian repositioned Mickey’s legs onto his shoulders, allowing him to push in deeper and rub his cockhead against Mickey’s swollen prostate as he continued to pound into him.

Mickey whined and fisted his fingers into the sheets from the pleasure of being fucked the way he wanted. He could take this every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.

Ian’s thrusts became jerky as he neared his climax, then he slammed into Mickey once more, his body shuddering as he pumped his hot cum inside his love. Mickey stroked himself just a few more times until, with a strangled cry, he reached his orgasm.

They laid that way for what seemed like forever, Ian’s softening cock still inside Mickey, not wanting to move and end this moment.

“I love you,” Ian told Mickey, whispering it into the older man’s ear.

“I love you too, Ian,” Mickey said. “Always have.”

Ian knew Mickey wanted to do this to calm Ian down about the testimony. However, if Ian knew Mickey, the older man would testify against a hundred more cartels, for a thousand more days, if it meant he‘d be able to have Ian’s dick again.

Mickey grinned his shit-eating grin, the one Ian fell in love with and which was just as endearing now, on a man in his twenties who had seen horrors men twice and thrice his age had not, as it was back then. Even then, they‘d experienced hardships no kids their age ever should have seen, or any adult, for that matter.

 _It wasn’t fair,_ Ian thought, but neither was inheriting Monica’s mental illness.

However, he thanked the crazy, winding road that brought Mickey back into his life. Times like these made it so fucking easy to forget about how unfair the rest was.


	7. Uncertainty

“How does that make you feel?” Shannon asked Ian, not unkindly.

“I’m not sure. Part of me feels like I’m keeping things bottled up inside again, just like I did on the outside,” Ian said. “On the outside, it was similar, because when we were kids, I had to sneak around with Mickey and never reveal to anyone what we were doing, not even to his sister. Mandy was - is - my best friend. She’s gone now, stashed someplace in WITSEC now. I don’t know when I’ll be able to see her again.”

Ian liked the therapist he was seeing in prison. Shannon was slight in build, with a warm, friendly smile. He met with her weekly, a condition of his plea agreement along with seeing Dr. Hutton, a psychiatrist affiliated with the prison, who prescribed Ian his meds and would adjust them if need be.

“That must be really hard. I hear a lot of stories of rough lives, working with inmates, but you two are survivors. It’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to express emotions. It’s not the South Side way, but with the trauma you’ve described to me, PTSD is a real possibility among people who’ve seen a lot less than what you’ve gone through,” she said.

Shannon was understanding, never pushing Ian to reveal more than he was ready to talk about. There was a good deal more he hadn’t opened up to her about yet, but Ian still had over a year and a half to do that.

“If there’s more that you haven’t unpacked yet, that’s okay. Talk about it whenever you feel ready, when you’re comfortable,” Shannon told him.

“Thanks,” Ian said.

Having met with Shannon for three months now, the length of time he’d been in Beckman so far, he had already divulged a large chunk of his experiences that led him there, including Monica, Mickey and the Army. He knew his sessions with Shannon were private, and nothing she said would leave here. Still, he left out some details, feeling it’d be betraying Mickey to tell her.

“I’m still just coming to terms with the fact I hurt Mickey. I loved him, Shannon. I loved him from the time we were kids, but I couldn’t be with him then because of his psychotic prick of a dad. Then when I actually could have him, I let my illness get the better of me and fucked it up, hurting him terribly. I left him in a prison cell to rot. I’m a horrible human being, even if he’s forgiven me,” Ian rambled. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve him back. Don’t get me wrong - I’m thrilled I have him again, but I don’t feel like I deserve this chance.”

“You’ve known him for a long time. You loved each other, but external circumstances kept you apart, not anything that was fundamentally wrong with either of you. You have horrors in your past most people couldn’t even dream of,” Shannon said. “Each day, remind yourself of one good thing Mickey sees in you. You can’t change the past, but you can work from now on to make it up to him. Be a better version of yourself.”

She paused. “Be the person you think Mickey deserves, and right your wrongs by showing him how much you’re committed to him and won’t leave again. Each day, think of one small thing you can do to show him you care about him.”

 

* * *

 

Ian left Shannon’s office, feeling as relieved as he always was to finally put his mental health care on the front burner. As exhausting as it was to do this so frequently, Ian knew his failure to communicate with Mickey was a large part of the reason their relationship broke down in the first place.

He was grateful to have the advice of a third party who wasn’t there to judge him or see him as nothing more than his illness - just Ian, the man Mickey loved and wanted to share a future with once they were finally released from jail.

The fact that Ian was committed to staying when he could have left, finding a way to channel his energy in constructive rather than destructive ways, meant he wasn’t Monica, Ian reminded himself. Maybe he wasn’t just doomed to let history repeat itself again.

In his sessions with Shannon, he also touched on the fact that Mickey would soon be called to federal court to testify against the cartel. Once that was done, Ian felt like a huge weight would be off his shoulders, as well as off those of Mickey.

Ian had a bad feeling about the situation. He couldn’t forgive himself if anything happened to Mickey as a result of what his partner had done to be locked up with him. Ian felt much too responsible for the situation, for Mickey giving up his own freedom to be here with Ian, to not be concerned.

Mickey had been meeting with the federal prosecutor handling the cartel case, the Cook County State’s Attorney and a public defender to discuss Mickey’s upcoming court appearance. He’d testify at the trial of one of Mendez’s associates he’d help put away, for whom Mickey was formerly an underling.

Under terms of the agreement Mickey made with the feds, they were not going to charge him with anything related to the cartel, granting him immunity in exchange for his testimony. He’d get no more jail time other than what he’d negotiated to get put with Ian in Beckman.

Mickey learned about more ways they would try to protect him from retribution, already noting he was never permitted to go anywhere in Beckman without being in the sightline of multiple COs and staff. He’d be brought into the courtroom, give his testimony, and return to the safety of the PC unit until he was released to his family.

Mickey didn’t seem concerned about his predicament, Ian thought. He mostly seemed to look forward to getting it over with. If he was nervous, he wasn’t showing it, but Mickey never was one to talk about feelings.

Ian was still worried. Mickey was set to testify against Diego Rivera, a figure in the Mendez cartel for whom Mickey worked while in Mexico.

“I’m sorry, I’m fucking scared. It’s almost like things have been going too fucking well and it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan,” Ian said, for likely for the third or fourth time. “Somebody could be plotting shit right fucking now. We don’t know if the dude in the next cell is trying to kill you. Things aren’t supposed to be easy. I’m a Gallagher. You used to be a Milkovich.”

Mickey sighed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ian. You don’t have to be so fucking dramatic. I’ll be fine. I testify against Rivera, I go back in here with you, life will go on. The feds want to see Rivera put away, I’m helping them do it. If anything happens to me on their watch, THEY look like fucking jackasses. If they value their careers, they wouldn’t kick their own asses like that.”

Ian still looked unsure, so Mickey went on.

“I’m not that fucking dense. I know they don’t give a fucking shit about me, but dead men don’t talk. I don’t talk, they don’t get a conviction. That’s all they care about, and what I’m counting on,” he said.

Ian thought Mickey had a point - for anyone associated with the case, it’d look terrible for a protected witness to die on their watch. If for no other reason than that, it’d be in their best interest to make sure Mickey was able to testify and return to Beckman safely.

“Whatever,” Ian said. “Do you have any idea yet when they’ll be taking you in?”

“No, but I’ll keep you posted. They ain’t gonna say much until they’re ready for me to go in. Don’t want to reveal their ace in the hole,” Mickey mused.

”But speaking of aces in holes, i can’t wait for you to  put yours in mine after lights out.” He stuck his tongue out at Ian.

“God, that was fucking terrible, even for you,” Ian groaned. “Don’t get me worked up now, because we haven’t even fucking gone to work yet. While I’m there, I should pick up some more lube and maybe some snacks. You want anything else while I’m there?”

“Yeah, grab me more Pringles and a few Snickers bars,” Mickey told him. “I’m good for now, otherwise. I gotta leave for the mess hall soon.”

 

* * *

 

The following week, the powers that be served Mickey with a subpoena, including the date and time he was to be brought to court to testify - six weeks from today’s date.

To Ian, all this meant was he had a month and a half until he knew if the protection Mickey was promised would hold until he was done testifying.

Ian was still nervous, confiding in Shannon and hoping he was just worried about nothing. He vented about how he was jittery enough to where he wanted to smoke again, even though the nicotine patches were working - and he couldn't speak for how well they were working for Mickey. He told Dr. Hutton about his stress levels so he could adjust Ian’s meds accordingly.

Ian felt like he needed to eat more, exercise more, and do something to take his mind off the impending trial. As long as he was doing something other than worrying, it was enough.

That afternoon, while Ian was completing his last rep of pull-ups while exercising in the prison yard, something dawned on him he hadn’t told Mickey. He turned to the shorter man.

“I don’t think I ever told you this, but you know what I was thinking when you were straddling me with that tire iron, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to fuck me or kill me?”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked.

“I thought, ‘I’m scared shitless, but I’m willing to take that chance since the risk is worth the reward. He’s so fucking hot,’” Ian confessed.

Mickey chuckled. “You were willing to risk dying for the sake of a good fuck? Damn, Gallagher, I knew you were really fucking goal-driven and all that shit, but that confirms it.”

Mickey shifted in his seated position on the asphalt yard, looking as though he was considering what Ian had said before speaking again.

“While we’re taking a long walk down fucking memory lane, you know what else? We never actually got to ever go on that Sizzler date we talked about before fucking Sammi,” Mickey said. “We need to make it a thing when we get out.”

“We will. We will do that and so much more,” Ian promised. “It’s just I don’t know if there even will be a Sizzler wherever we end up going. We may have to improvise.”

“Sure, whatever you want is good. But you know one thing I’ll miss? The fucking dugout. That was our spot, man. We fucked like rabbits and laughed afterward like nothing else ever fucking mattered but us. If we can’t ever go back to Chicago, we’ll never be able to go back there again. Damn, shit sucks,” Mickey huffed, suddenly brooding.

Ian smiled. “Well, I guess it just means we have to make new memories elsewhere. We’ll have nothing but time - provided you make it through the trial to give your testimony.”

Mickey looked annoyed. “For fuck’s sake, this bullshit again? Look around you. Fucking look.” He gestured to the multiple COs by the edge of the yard closest to the stone building, along the barbed-wire fences, and just inside the doors. He lowered his voice before continuing.

“Nobody is going to fucking touch us. This place is crawling with guards, and this PC unit is locked tighter than a fucking Catholic nun. We got this. After I testify, we’re home free. We got nothing else except the year and a half we still have to serve in here. This is it. We’re free after this. Fucking finally.”

Ian finally smiled. If Mickey could relax in here, and he had his back, what did he really have to worry about? This is what he’d always wanted.

 

* * *

 

That night, Ian and Mickey lay awake in their cell. Since the one near-mishap, they decided squeezing themselves into the bed was less risky than spreading out on the floor, and they’d just have to deal with the beds for the time being. Better that than being caught by the COs and being in an even worse predicament.

“Come here,” Mickey said as the COs turned the lights off and everyone prepared to go to sleep for the night. Both of the inmates were on their own bunks for the time being.

“I fucking promise that after I’m done testifying, we will have gotten through the hardest part of this. It’ll be fine. You’ll see, Gallagher,” Mickey said to Ian through the bunk.

“I’ve got your hardest part right here,” Ian said. “Want it?”

“Of fucking course. What am I gonna do, say fucking no? You know me better than that,” Mickey retorted. “I always want it. Come here, you.”

Ian climbed down and slid next to Mickey on the bottom bunk. He began passionately kissing his partner.

“I want your ass. No foreplay, I just want to get in you now,” Ian breathed.

Ian grabbed the lube from under the mattress as Mickey began prepping himself in a movement that was, by now, much-practiced, first one finger, then two and three until he had stretched himself adequately to take Ian’s dick.

Once Ian had finished getting undressed, he climbed in between Mickey’s spread legs and slowly, lovingly entered him, feeling the warm, tight heat on his head and shaft.

Ian leaned down to kiss Mickey, both men moaning into each other’s mouths as Ian thrust gently but firmly into Mickey’s body. His bottom’s thick thighs wrapped around Ian’s waist.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” Mickey said. “I love you so much.” He ran his fingers down Ian’s back, leaving marks and whining as Ian hit his sweet spot and ground against it.

Ian kept a steady pace as he fucked into Mickey, the smaller man’s tattooed fingers reaching down to grasp his own leaking cock and pump it. Mickey rocked his hips up into Ian’s thrusts.

“Fuck. I love you, too,” Ian said, looking into the shorter man’s blue eyes.

Still pumping into Mickey’s body, Ian leaned down again for a passionate, open-mouthed kiss, moaning into it as Mickey deepened it and slid his tongue alongside his own.

They’d started out just fucking each other years ago, Ian thought, but this was different. It was lovemaking.

Soon, Mickey moaned into Ian’s mouth as he found his release, his cum coating his fingers and both of their torsos. Ian thrust once more and bottomed out into Mickey’s hole as he finished inside him, shuddering.

Ian pulled out, cum leaking from his partner’s hole, reddened from use. Ian leaned down and licked the seed as it dripped out of his partner, closing his lips and sucking Mickey’s hole.

“Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” Mickey panted.

They laid entwined together for a few more minutes, Ian enjoying the comfort of being so close to Mickey. He hoped eventually they wouldn’t have to do this and could sleep together without any worry.

It felt like more than he deserved, but maybe, just maybe, the stars finally aligned and he’d have the life he wanted for so long, Ian thought as he nuzzled the side of Mickey’s head.


	8. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the additional tags I’ve added specifically for this chapter. Consider yourself warned.
> 
> Trigger warning for semi-graphic depiction of canon-typical prison violence.

Before long, six weeks came and went. Ian tried his best to put Mickey’s court appearances at the back of his mind, with Mickey giving him plenty of attention in the form of sex and blowjobs, the result being that Ian was sexually satisfied but still just as worried.

Ian did his best to keep himself occupied during work by thinking of how things would be once he and Mickey got out of prison, finally free - able to live the life they longed for, but could never have years ago.

Mickey seemed thrilled about this, in spite of the fact that they still hadn’t worked out the logistics of how and when they’d get married, as well as what would happen if their releases didn’t end up lining up. Ian didn’t want to think about it.

Mickey stuck with the plan of having Ian petition, if need be, to marry him once he got out of jail first, then flee with him in the WITSEC program to wherever they’d be relocated. He seemed sure that since he held the cards in terms of giving the feds the testimony they needed, they would be willing to negotiate and throw him more bones.

“Something else occurred to me,” Mickey told Ian. “What if, after I’m done testifying, we ask to be transferred to finish out our sentence in a jail in whatever state they stashed Mandy, Iggy and them in? There’s no point in staying in Chicago once I’m done testifying. There’s nothing left for me anymore.”

Ian considered that. “They’ve given you everything you’ve wanted so far, and other states may not have the same restrictions on inmate marriage as Illinois does. I’ll have to run that by Garcia the next time I’m able to talk to him.”

They’d served six months of their sentence, so they were a quarter of the way through their jail sentence. Ian met regularly with his family, getting updates from Fiona, Lip and Debbie.

Carl had finished another year of military school, Frannie was entering preschool, and Kev and V’s girls were now in kindergarten. Debbie was doing well for herself with her welding jobs. It occurred to Ian that Yevgeny, wherever he was, would be about the same age as Amy and Gemma.

He felt a twinge of regret. Ian had never wished to force Mickey to have a relationship with his son while they were together. He understood his partner’s resistance to bonding with a child who had been conceived via an act to which Mickey had never consented, an act Terry had twisted into something terrible, leaving Yev as a reminder of the sorrow of that awful day.

Still, Ian had taken care of Yev, loved that baby like his own. Even when he was manic, Ian never wished to see him come to harm. Even if Mickey found it hard to bond with his son, Ian felt a profound sense of loss once he could no longer see Yev every day. Svetlana wasn’t exactly keen on Ian hanging around after he ran off with her son and ending up in the psych ward, and after Mickey went to jail.

For Ian, it was too painful to see the handsome little blond boy with his father’s baby blue eyes, such a reminder of what Ian had and lost. Now that he had Mickey back in his life, he wondered if there’d be a way he could see Yev again.

“Mickey?” Ian asked him that morning at breakfast. “Have you heard from Svetlana? I was wondering how Yev was doing, if you’ve heard from her.”

Mickey took a minute to answer. “Fuck if I know. Haven’t seen or heard from either of them since before I broke out. Once Svetlana divorced me, that was it,” he finally said. “I guess it’s for the better. Want to see he has a better life than his fuckup dad, so he doesn’t turn out like me. He’s better off.”

After taking a sip of his juice and swallowed, he continued. “The kid probably can’t see me, anyway. I’m in the program, so I can’t really contact anybody I used to know.” His face was hard for Ian to read.

Ian resisted the urge to hug Mickey, recalling where they were. He also made sure to keep his voice down, knowing where they were and how sensitive this information was.

“If he does turn out like you, then he’ll be a fucking gorgeous little boy with a huge heart, courageous and a fighter like his old man,” Ian said. “The last I heard from Kev and V, Svetlana had married some rich old guy. If that’s so, then Yev should be well provided for. He’ll be fine.”

Mickey smirked. “I figured she’d reel in somebody, since the queer jailbird gig didn’t work so well for her. Hopefully this time the dude’ll be straight.”

”Wonder if Yev will be gay, straight or bi. Either way, he’ll get plenty if he looks like you when he’s older,” Ian said.

Mickey chuckled in spite of himself, and Ian smiled. At least they’d come to the point where they could talk about this without it hurting either of them, considering the immense trauma and pain they’d suffered in order to get this far past it. At least, as far as Ian could tell, Mickey was not showing outward signs of emotion.

“So, what’s supposed to happen tomorrow?” Ian asked. “They come to pick you up, you testify, you leave?”

“Pretty much. U.S. Marshals are supposed to come to Beckman to take me there, then escort me in and out of the courthouse, make sure nobody tries to off me,” Mickey said. “I keep coming back for as long as they need me. After that, I come back here. Should be it.”

Ian seemed more at ease. “They’ll escort you here and there?” Mickey nodded.

“Yeah. The prosecutors were telling me that in some cases, they’d use weird ways of sneaking witnesses in when they’d have trials for Mafia bosses and shit, bringing them in on boats at night and shit. Crazy,” Mickey said, stabbing his hash browns with his fork. “Hopefully I won’t have to be there all day.”

“Yeah. I’ll be fucking worried until you get back. I’ll be busy at work, so at least that will be something to keep my mind on,” Ian conceded.

“After that’s done, I can’t wait to get back here and get on you,” Mickey said. “It’s so fucking nice to have great sex again. I missed it while you were gone. I sure as shit will never take it for granted again, Firecrotch.”

Ian chuckled at the nickname, a relic from their days as young kids in the dugouts. “I wonder if it’d be a good idea to leave my hair the way it is.”

While it hadn’t been a priority in jail in spite of Mickey’s grumbling about the dye job, Ian had his hair buzzed a few weeks back. It was free of black dye and starting to grow back, so Ian was again a redhead.

“Fuck, I hope so. I hated that shit on your head,” Mickey said. “Usually they don’t make protected witnesses change their appearances or nothing, just shuttle them off to a new city to live someplace else.”

Once they were done eating, a group of COs came to escort Mickey away while Ian went to work in the commissary.

Ian tried his best to keep his mind on task, but it was tough. He’d talked to Shannon, and she reassured him Mickey would be in good hands. Still, he couldn’t shake the anxiety.

 

* * *

 

It was with a profound sense of relief when Ian saw Mickey return, unscathed and still in one piece, in time for dinner. He tried to conceal his delight at seeing the smaller man.

“How did it go?” Ian asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Pretty fucking dull, considering. I just went over the testimony like we practiced ahead of time. The prosecutors asked a bunch of questions. Rivera’s attorneys tried to shake me. I just talked about what I saw. They want me to come back the rest of this week to ask more.”

Ian nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah,” Mickey said. “It’s not really that interesting. Don’t feel like I need to - just more shit I need to do until I get out of this hole with you.”

Ian reassured Mickey that once this was over, they’d be one step closer to their goal, one they’d kept holding on to for so long to get through their monotonous existence in this place.

By now, they’d been able to get a decent feel for who they could trust. Ian saw Antonio hadn’t led them astray in terms of who they could trust while in jail.

Thankfully, all remained fairly quiet in the PC unit, with the exception of a few scuffles. Ian was thankful that he’d never have to deal with the gen pop area of the prison, where he’d heard things could get brutal. Mickey scoffed that it would have been easy. Ian punched him in the arm.

Although Mickey had stayed out of fights, his brash demeanor, and intimidating presence in spite of his short stature, came in handy on more than one occasion. Ian was certainly glad he didn’t have to go it alone, as he’d initially feared.

With the exception of a few guys who got a little too friendly with Ian (until Mickey told them where they could stick their dicks instead), nothing else happened, to Ian’s immense relief.

Ian knew Mickey was keeping his eyes on the prize and his head down. Still, once this week was over with, they could both breathe more easily.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Williams led Ian and Mickey to the showers with other PC unit inmates, after which Mickey would be brought back to the courthouse to give more testimony.

Ian, in a routine that had become familiar, kept to himself in a corner, eyes down as he washed his hair. Mickey was showering under one of the heads on the opposite side of the room - all Mickey’s idea, since boners were too awkward to explain.

The redhead looked up and saw two dark-haired men he’d never seen before come into the shower room. One was bearded and short. The other was about Ian’s height. The taller man had an elaborate forearm tattoo that said “Mi Vida Loca.”

The tattooed man shifted his bundle containing his towel and clothing, draping it over his arm so Ian couldn’t see what the rest of the design was. The newcomers took two of the shower heads between himself and Mickey.

As Mickey turned to leave, his naked body caught the attention of the short, bearded man, who whistled at his ass.

 _Fuck_ , Ian thought. He braced himself for ensuing trouble, hoping that this wouldn’t get too ugly or out of hand.

“The fuck are you looking at? I ain’t nobody’s bitch,” Mickey snarled, turning back around to face his catcaller.

The man who‘d whistled raised his hands. “Hey, no problem, man. Fine. Plenty of dudes in here are way better-looking, and they have bigger dicks.”

Ian turned his head to look at Mickey. Eyes narrowed, the pissed-off brunet looked very much like he was ready to escalate this rather than letting this cocky asshole get the last word. Fuck.

Ian groaned. _Let it go, Mick. He’s not fucking worth it._

Mickey puffed out his chest. “Fuck you! You ain’t no fucking prize. You take me for some sort of fucking queer?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian saw a huge, hulking man on the other side of the room start to walk toward Mickey. In a movement remarkably swift for such a big man, he came up from behind and seized the little thug in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides.

“What the FUCK?!” Mickey yelled. He tried to kick his attacker’s shins, but ended up slipping on the wet floor.

A flash of movement came from the left before Ian could do anything. To his horror, Mickey uttered a sickening, gurgling gasp as a jagged blade plunged into his stomach.

The second assailant, the man with the “Mi Vida Loca” tattoo, yanked his knife out as the huge man let Mickey go; he slumped down to the floor.

“MICKEY!” Ian wailed. “FUCK YOU! I’m gonna fucking KILL YOU!”

From there, it was mayhem. Ian’s screaming echoed in the showers. Other inmates joined in the melee, some of whom came running in from the hall to see what was happening.

Ian reacted on pure instinct. He grabbed Mickey’s assailant’s arm, enraged further by seeing that the blade in the man’s hand was stained bright red.

 _Mickey’s blood,_ Ian raged. _I’ll fucking kill him._

From behind him, something hit the redhead in the skull with a sickening thud. Ian’s vision went blurry, his ears ringing. Pain shot through his head.

“Drop it and get on the floor! Get on the floor NOW, ALL OF YOU!”

More men ran in. Ian heard multiple voices bellow, but in his confusion, he couldn’t tell where they came from.

It was so fucking noisy. Alarms blared. COs called for backup. All Ian cared about was murdering the sick bastard who stabbed Mickey, the love of his life. His Mickey.

Aided by pure adrenaline, Ian managed to wrench the blade from the assailant’s grasp. With a cry of rage, Ian threw it to the floor. Someone else wrestled Mickey’s assailant down, pinning the man’s arms behind his back as he lay on his stomach.

“On the floor!” a deep voice bellowed again. “GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR NOW!”

His own safety an afterthought, Ian turned back to Mickey, who was gasping for breath, slumped against the wall, a pool of blood forming around him, mixing with the shower water.

Ian was outside his body, seeing a nightmare unfolding around him. This was someone else’s nightmare. Not his.

Ian dropped to Mickey’s side and, without thinking, his EMT training kicked in. Fighting against his disorientation from the blow he sustained to his head, Ian turned Mickey onto his back with his wound face up, and listened desperately for breathing. He tried to watch the pale chest for movement, but his eyes couldn’t focus.

 _Fucking breathe for me, Mick,_ Ian silently begged. _I can’t fucking lose you. Fuck you. Fight for me. Fucking please!_

Grabbing wildly for a towel, Ian found one and pressed it into Mickey’s abdominal wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, not knowing how far in the blade had gone.

His EMT training was in his brain, but it was getting fuzzy. It seemed like so long ago that he last did this. The blood soaked through the thin cloth.

 _What the fuck?_ Ian screamed internally. He was trained to stay calm in these situations. His head throbbed - _A concussion,_ his EMT brain thought someplace, _but he could do this. God fucking damn it!_

Someone grabbed his arm and, as he became dizzy, he heard a new voice to his left.

“I’ll take over from here,” Ian heard, not knowing or caring from where, or whom, the voice was coming.

Ian tried to keep his head up, fighting as strong hands pulled him away from Mickey, taking over to press the towel in. The damn ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but Mickey.

His vision continuing to blur even more severely, the loud noises around him too much, Ian turned his head and vomited.


	9. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kim Foxx is the real name of the Cook County State’s Attorney. I neither own, nor have any affiliation with, her office.

After waking up in the hospital, Ian had no idea how much time had passed. He felt groggy and couldn’t remember how he got here.

_What the fuck?_

Ian reached up to touch his head and felt a neck brace digging into his chin. Moving his head as much as he could, he saw an IV sticking in his arm.

“What the fuck?” Ian asked.

His voice sounded hoarse. Dimly, he realized he wasn’t alone.

“Ian?” A familiar voice called his name. _Fiona_?

Ian saw his sister standing in the doorway. She ran over and hugged him as well as she could while Ian was in the bed.

“Thank fuck you’re okay. We got the call from the hospital and were so fucking worried. They called me while I was at Patsy’s and told me what happened,” Fiona said.

“What the fuck happened?” Ian asked. He tried to wrack his brain. He remembered being in the showers, and then...

“Some dude tried to kill Mickey in the showers at Beckman. A fight broke out, and you got clubbed over the head. We’re at the U Chicago trauma center,” Fiona explained.

“Mickey!” Ian croaked out. “Is he okay? Is he all right?”

“Yeah. It takes more than that to kill that motherfucker,” Fiona grinned. “Had surgery, got a fuckton of stitches and is doped up on pain meds, but he’ll be okay. Lost a lot of blood on the way in, though.”

Ian breathed a little easier, but he was confused. He wanted to see Mickey. “What happened? Did they get the guy who did this? Does Mickey know I’m here and I’m okay?”

Fiona waited, then cleared her throat. “Yeah. Fucker’s name is Pablo Cortez. Low-level cartel thug. He came into gen pop at Beckman last month. Stabbed Mickey with a knife he smuggled in, not your garden-variety shiv. Got it into the showers wrapped in a towel. He got it from somebody before that, but they don’t know who.”

Ian’s eyes widened in horror. He opened his mouth to talk, but Fiona cut him off.

“Shh. He wasn’t supposed to be in protective custody with you guys,” Fiona said. “They have no idea how the fuck he got to you, but they found four other guys in your wing of the prison that didn’t belong there, either. Whole prison went on lockdown as soon as the COs came and broke it up. The feds are PISSED. Cook County State’s Attorney and cops are talking to Lip now.”

“Lip!” Ian forced out.

“No one can get us here. There’s an armed guard in the hall. Said they’re used to dealing with inmates from Beckman and some other prisons, so they’re taking extra security measures,” Fiona said. “The State’s Attorney is gonna want to talk to you now that you’re up. I’ll get her now. Love you, little brother.”

“Fiona! Wait!” Ian cried out. “Did anybody talk to Mickey yet? He has to know I’m here. He’s probably fucking shitting himself right now.”

Fiona leaned over to kiss Ian on the forehead before leaving.

“Debbie’s over right now talking to him. She always did have a soft spot for him,” Fiona mused. “We tried to go in, but some “Men in Black”-looking dudes stopped us. You have to be on an approved list - that is, approved by Mickey, to see him. The only two names Mickey put on it are you and Debbie.”

Ian snorted. Leave it to Mickey to approve the two ginger Gallaghers and nobody else.

Soon afterward, a woman and two men walked in. The woman - Ian guessed she was the State’s Attorney - had a large briefcase.

“Ian Gallagher? I’m Kaye Foxx from the Cook County State Attorney’s Office,” she told Ian, shaking his hand. The two men introduced themselves as Chicago PD police detectives.

“What happened? How did that cartel guy get in to try and hurt Mickey?” Ian asked.

“We’re looking into that, and this is very serious. Someone carried out a hit on a WITSEC inmate who was to be kept safe until he was done testifying. Federal agents are at Beckman interviewing Warden Fisher now,” Foxx said. “We think Cortez and the rest of them had inside help. We’re pulling tapes from the prison surveillance cameras now to see if we get anything.”

Ian mouth opened and closed in shock. “How?”

Calmly, Foxx walked Ian through a serious of questions related to what he’d seen. Once all three of the law enforcement officials had finished taking notes, Foxx told Ian to expect more visits in the near future.

Confused, Ian readjusted himself in the bed, his back sore from lying in the same position for so long. A minute later, another pair of familiar faces entered.

“Lip! Debs!” Ian cried out.

The Gallagher siblings ran to hug their brother. Lip was wearing his Born Free Cycles uniform. Debbie looked cleaner than he’d seen her after she’d come home from any of her welding jobs, so he figured she’d had the day off.

“I just saw Mickey. He didn’t let Lip and Fiona in to see him,” Debbie cheesed. “He knows you’re okay. One of the nurses told me that when he first woke up, he wouldn’t stop screaming and crying about Ian, so they had to sedate him. But he’s up and talking now.”

Ian laughed in spite of himself.

“Guess the sex was worth nearly getting fucking eviscerated,” Lip said. “Mickey’s gotten shot twice because of you, and now this. You must be a hell of a fucking good lay, little brother. But we could tell from the noises we heard when Mickey lived with us. At least I was living at college for some of that, but Carl told me all about the rest of it.”

“Fuck you!” Ian said.

“To this day, I can’t believe he‘s the one who lets you stick it in him, not the other way around,” Lip shot back.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ian blushed bright red as his asshole brother just smirked at him.

Debbie shifted nervously on her feet. Ian suspected she knew something unpleasant she hadn’t spilled. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“Because of what happened, the feds are going to see if it’s okay to give Mickey an iPad and have him testify from his hospital bed on Skype, instead of dragging him into court or waiting until he’s better,” she said. “Once he’s good enough to be moved, they’re going to take him someplace closer to his family, wherever they are.”

“Where? Did he tell you?” Lip asked.

Debbie shook her head. “Nope. Mickey said he doesn’t even know, because they don’t want him to tell. I’m sorry, Ian. I asked if they’d at least take you to his room to see him.”

Just then, a nurse walked in. “Hi, I’m Nick,” he said, introducing himself to the three Gallaghers. How are you feeling, Ian?”

“Okay, I guess. My head hurts,” Ian said. “About a three.”

“Okay. I just need to take your temperature and blood pressure now,” Nick said.

Ian cooperated as Nick asked his patient to describe his symptoms. He jotted down notes in his notepad. While he had transported patients to hospitals during his time as an EMT, Ian didn’t often see what ended up happening after they’d made it to their destination.

Nick explained to Ian that a doctor would be in to do some neurologic tests. Nick asked questions about Ian’s symptoms, and told Ian they’d be doing a CT scan to rule out a skull fracture or brain bleeding, before leaving Ian with his siblings.

“Hey, I bought you some snacks on the way over. I figured these would be better than prison or hospital food,” Lip added. “We missed you, bro. The house isn’t the same without you around. Glad you’re okay.”

Lip and Debbie stayed until the end of visiting hours. Debbie repeatedly went back and forth between Mickey and Ian’s rooms to relay messages, to the chagrin of the hospital staff. Finally, they gave in and agreed to wheel Ian over to Mickey’s room so they all could get some peace and quiet.

Ian laid down as his bed was wheeled down the hall, up to a stern-looking guard wearing black. After confirming Ian was Mickey’s other approved visitor on the list, he nodded.

Mickey looked tired, still out of it and even paler than usual, but his face lit up when he saw the hospital staff wheeling Ian’s bed into his hospital room.

Ian burst into tears as soon as he saw him.

“Mickey!” he sobbed. “Oh my god. You almost fucking died. I love you, Mick...so glad you’re gonna be okay.”

“Ian,” he breathed. “I fucking love you so much.”

After the staff told Ian he had one hour until he’d go back to his own room, the men were left alone. Since the other bed in the room was empty, they could talk freely. Ian sat up to look at his love, wiping away tears.

Mickey lifted his hospital gown enough to show Ian his bandages that covered his surgical incision. He’d been rushed into emergency surgery, but he’d come through with flying colors minus his spleen, which was too damaged and had to be removed.

Mickey also suffered a minor perforation of his small intestine, which was sewn shut in the operating room and would have no lasting ill effects.

“Fucker had to try harder than that to kill me. But it hurts like a motherfucker, more than even getting shot,” Mickey groaned. “It blows to laugh or move. At least I get the good shit for pain. I could’ve gone my whole life without having a fucking tube shoved up my dick so I don’t have to get up to take a piss, but here we fucking are.”

Ian didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. “Fuck, Mick. The goddamn universe keeps trying to keep us apart. Why the fuck does somebody fucking hate us so much? Bad karma?”

“No shit.” Mickey’s eyes focused on Ian, his baby blues bright as ever. “But since we’ve only got an hour...” He lowered his voice until it was a whisper.

“I ain’t supposed to be telling you this. Have to, though. You’re getting outta here with me. They’re gonna offer you witness protection if you testify against Cortez. I said I was gonna do nothing else for them unless we both get moved together. So if they want me to talk, they’ll have to do what I want.”

Ian was stunned. “What?”

“U.S. Marshals are flying us to Buffalo soon as I’m cleared to be moved. Ain’t safe here. We’ll get to see Mandy, Iggy and Joey,” Mickey said. “Far as anybody there knows, they’re the McGuires from Cleveland. They wanted to stay on the Great Lakes, so their accents don’t stand out. They don’t sound too different from Chicago. I-“

“Debs said you didn’t know where they are,” Ian interrupted.

“I wasn’t gonna fucking tell Debs before I told you, was I? Now shut the fuck up, asshole. As I was saying: the Marshals will come for you in the next few days. The feds are gonna ask you to testify in court against the fucker who tried to kill me. As soon as you say yes, they’ll take you and your family right then. They’ll give you protection, same as me. We can be together.”

Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “My family? They will be able to come with me?”

“Yeah. Your siblings can get new names and IDs, too, so the cartel doesn’t go after ‘em on the outside. They’ll fly you back to Chicago for Cortez’s trial, and then you never come here again,” Mickey said. “You don’t have to pick them or me. We’re outta here. You and me.”

Mickey took a deep breath. Ian could tell he was starting to get choked up and there was more to come. His voice became shakier as well.

“They also told me we can get hitched. They’re gonna rush a marriage license so we can do it once you get your new name. New York don’t care if we’re in jail.” Mickey let his tears fall. “We can be together now. For real. You’re mine, Firecrotch. You’re my fucking fiancé.”

Ian started to cry, again, too. Mickey was his - only his. After so many years and obstacles, they could be together. This couldn’t be real. It was too good to be true, Ian thought.

“I can’t believe we’re actually engaged. That it’s official now,” Ian said, sniffling. “I wasn’t sure whether we could call each other that or not, since we didn’t have the ring, the fucking getting down on one knee and all that sappy, happy shit.”

Mickey smiled weakly. “We don’t need that shit. But if you want to do it, we can if it means that much to you. I fucking want you to be happy. It's all I ever wanted, even when I didn’t think you wanted me. You brought me to hell and back, Ian Gallagher, and I’m still here.”

Both sniffling, Ian reached out his hand for Mickey to grasp. Blue eyes looked into green, this time knowing, unlike so many other times, this time there wouldn’t be a goodbye.

“I love you, Mickey. Always have, always will,” Ian said.


	10. Jackpot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you so much for following this story and for reading. Be safe and happy festivities!

* * *

Ian was going stir crazy. He didn’t like hospitals and he never had, but at this point he supposed being here was just a means to an end. That end, of course, was a future with Mickey, at long last.

He stood up, glad he was again able to walk and move without feeling nauseous, and paced. He scratched at his bandaged head. The neurologic and cognitive tests, coupled with the CT scan, revealed Ian had suffered a simple skull fracture as well as a concussion, so he was under observation for a few more days.

He stepped outside into the hall. One guard stood in the corridor that led to the ward where he and Mickey were staying, and a second was posted outside Mickey’s room, so no one could get them in here.A chill ran through Ian’s body with the recollection that they’d thought the same of their accommodations in the PC unit of Beckman Correctional.

It’d been a week since the attempt on Mickey’s life, and Ian was still shaken up. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, after having nightmares of his own barely-human screams, seeing a loop of Cortez stabbing Mickey in the showers on repeat.

After all the fucked-up things he’d seen growing up on the South Side, it took a lot to shake Ian, but this was something else. Mickey had almost died in front of him, exsanguinating in a prison shower. Granted he’d seen Mickey get shot twice before, but both of those times paled in comparison to being gutted by a Mexican cartel hitman hellbent on having revenge.

Peterson and various people Ian didn’t know, associated with the feds, he’d guessed, had already come to take his sworn statement about what had happened. Ian’s memory after being hit in the head was still fuzzy, and thankfully he couldn’t remember what happened between the time of his injury and waking up in his bed.

He hoped it would remain that way, because he didn’t need more memories of Mickey bleeding out on the tile floor, surrounded by people who saw him as just a number, a worthless piece of refuse put in jail to be forgotten. It was bad enough he’d lost him too many times before.

Ian needed to see Mickey again. The hospital staff were accommodating and had allowed Ian to go back and forth between his room and Mickey’s, within reason, probably realizing one or both of them would raise hell if not given that small comfort while injured.

Mickey was recovering well, probably in no small part due to Ian’s presence. Mickey had finished testifying from his hospital bed, and was now waiting for updates on when he’d be flown to his new life in Buffalo.

After greeting the guard on his way into Mickey’s room, Ian walked in and looked down at his partner. Mickey’s bright blue eyes met his own.

“Ian,” he said. “Come here.”

Ian curled his long body up next to Mickey on the hospital bed. He nuzzled against Mickey’s black locks, breathing in the scent of his love. His fiancé, he could finally call him.

“How are you feeling? I had another nightmare,” Ian told Mickey.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry you had to fucking see that shit, but I’m fine. Like I said, it takes more than that to kill a Milkovich,” he snorted. “I just fucking wished I could’ve gotten that asshole back with a shot in the kidneys for fucking with me.”

Ian’s breath hitched in his throat. “I hate not knowing how it happened or if they’re going to get the bastard who did it. Fuck, I don’t even want to have to come back here and testify.”

Mickey looked down at Ian’s head, wrapped in white bandages. “I mean, it’s pretty fucking obvious their dude tried to off me. Fucking asshole probably blew one of the COs or something. Or fucked him, or gave him drugs.“

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Will we ever be safe anyplace we go? What if we have to look back over our shoulders for the rest of our lives, no matter where we go?” Ian asked.

He sat up to look Mickey in the eyes. “I can’t stand knowing I put you in danger. I just can’t. I still feel like this is all my fucking fault and none of this even had to happen at all.”

“Hey. Hey, fucking listen to me,” Mickey said. “You didn’t put me in danger. I fucking chose this. This is what I wanted, and I signed up for it. I’m in it for the long haul. Thick and thin, good times and bad, and all that other shit. This is it.”

Ian sighed. “I wish it were that easy. We should’ve just been sitting on a beach in Mexico sipping margaritas.”

Mickey snorted in response. “Fuck, I’m glad it worked out like this, because now I have a shot at giving us a good life. Like we talked about, like we’d always wanted. I had to constantly be on the run in Mexico, seeing shit I frankly don’t want to talk about. None of it was fucking pretty or nice. I’d never forgive myself if I got you mixed up in it.”

“Yeah, true,” Ian said. “How are you feeling? Better?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking about what we’ll do in Buffalo. Know anything about it? I don’t, but we have to read up on a lot of shit about Cleveland, too, since they’re coming up with some fake-ass history on how we came from there.”

Ian digested this. All he knew was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was in Cleveland, and he wasn’t sure what history the U.S. Marshals would give the Gallaghers. They would have to come up with a new last name, like Mickey’s siblings had done when they moved.

“They have chicken wings. That’s all I know. Beyond that, I’ll be as lost as you,” Ian said. “This isn’t going to be easy for either of us.”

Mickey nodded. “It’ll be fucking nice to see Mandy and Iggy again. Hope they’re doing okay. I wonder what Mandy will end up doing now she won’t be working for that escort service. She deserves better, but never fucking got it.”

Something came to Ian’s mind that worried him. “Once you’re better, they’re going to fly you out to Buffalo, right? I won’t have any way to contact you, so how will we find each other there? Will they make sure we’re put in the same prison?”

“Gallagher, you gotta stop fucking worrying so much. I told you, I got this. They’re gonna ship me off to Gowanda. It’s a medium-security facility just outside of Buffalo. I pulled some strings to make sure you’ll be sent there, too. If they don’t let us be cellmates, I got another plan. Not sure yet if they can do it, but I got ‘em looking at it.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’ll see,” Mickey said, slyly. “Let’s just say I’m trying to make sure you wouldn’t be cellmates with some random fuckhead if you can’t get in with me once we’re there.”

Mickey explained to Ian that as far as inmates at Gowanda knew, he would be serving 18 months for a low-level drug offense. They’d make a similar back story for Ian. Once they were released, records of their “drug convictions” would be expunged and they could start over with new identities and lives on the outside.

Both Ian and Mickey realized the attack at Beckman had an unexpected silver lining: Ian was now also a protected federal witness as a result of his impending testimony against Cortez. Therefore, he and Mickey no longer had to rush into getting married for Ian to be able to join Mickey in Buffalo.

After weighing the pros and cons, Ian and Mickey decided it would be best to postpone their wedding until after they got out of jail. That way, they‘d have more time to plan it out and have the ceremony they really wanted once they were free.

Ian, thrilled that everything fell into place like this, was beaming. Mickey, although less apt to admit it, was also pleased by this turn of events, although he both would have preferred not to get stabbed for it to happen. The former thug wasn’t keen on admitting excitement for a sappy event, but his facial expressions said it all to Ian.

“What do you think of all this?” Mickey asked.

“I love it. I’m so happy we will be able to plan a real ceremony, one that’s what we want and doesn’t involve us wearing jumpsuits. What are you thinking, Mick?” Ian answered.

Grunting, Mickey adjusted himself in his bed. “I’m thinking I got blue balls from having fuck all to do but watch TV. Not sure if I’m up for multiple rounds, but if you want to blow me or both rub one out, that’s cool.”

Smirking, Ian got back into the bed next to Mickey. Trying to avoid injuring his surgical incision, Ian’s reached under his fiancé’s hospital gown and rubbed the slowly stiffening cock. Mickey shuddered, grasping Ian’s other hand with one of his own.

“At least these flimsy-ass things they have us wear are good for something,” Mickey said. “Easy fucking access.”

Ian continued to stroke Mickey’s dick, working the thick shaft and retracting the foreskin to expose his lover’s pink head, by now glistening with pre-cum. Mickey bit his lip and stifled a moan as Ian stroked him faster.

Mickey reached across the bed to the tent in Ian’s hospital gown. He reached underneath to wrap one hand around the cock he really wanted to have inside him at that moment, and the only one that ever really satisfied him the way he liked it.

Mickey loved how huge Ian’s cock filled his hand, currently standing fully erect, curved to the left with a slight downward droop from its weight, how long and heavy it was.

Wanting to please Ian as much as he could, Mickey took his left hand and placed it next to his right along Ian’s shaft. Mickey marveled at (and was rather envious of) how he could fit both his hands, one next to the other, on it and still leave most of Ian’s head peeking out.

He missed this so much while Ian was gone. Nothing could satisfy Mickey as well, or reduce him to a quivering mass. Ian knew Mickey really wanted his hot ginger fiancé fucking him hard until they blew their loads. For now, this would do until his stitches healed more.

Panting harder in Mickey’s ear, Ian thrust his hips into Mickey’s hands and enjoyed the closeness he felt while sneaking this moment, where anyone could walk in on them, like they did for much of their sex life together.

Mickey whined as Ian’s fingers dipped across his slit and rubbed the slick pre-cum there. Ian then had an idea.

“I want to cum on your face, and then finish you off,” Ian said.

Mickey nodded. Scooting up onto the bed, taking care not to bump Mickey’s stomach, Ian took his length into his hands and started pumping his cock harder and faster.

Ian grunted as he climaxed, blowing his load across Mickey’s cheeks and chin. Mickey stuck his tongue out to lick the cum he could reach. Ian lapped up the rest, kissing Mickey so they both could have a taste.

Mickey turned his attention back to his own neglected, swollen prick. Biting his lip, he wrapped his tattooed fingers around the thick shaft, the slit leaking pre-cum all over his hospital gown and the bedsheets.

“I’m close,” Mickey moaned softly. “Want to finish me off? I’ll cum in your mouth, then we’ll kiss and then you put it in mine. Snowballing.”

Ian quickly replaced Mickey’s hand with his own, kissing his fiancé to cover the rather high-pitched whines that were unabashedly leaving the black-haired man’s throat.

Ian stroked faster, the muscles in his wrist and arm pumping as Mickey tried his best to both stay quiet and as still as possible to avoid hurting his stomach more. This was a tall order, and even if it did hurt a little, Mickey was beyond caring.

“Fuck yeah, that feels so fucking good,” he encouraged. “Make me come for you in your mouth. I’m almost there.”

This was Ian’s cue to put his mouth around the head of Mickey’s cock, suckling it while he continued to jerk the shaft with his hand, enjoying the pleading, needy sounds he was coaxing out of his love.

With a choked gasp, Mickey released into Ian’s mouth, the thick fluid pooling on the redhead’s tongue. Ian, holding it in his mouth, then leaned into Mickey and kissed him, pushing the mixture of Mickey’s semen and his saliva into the smaller man’s mouth.

After Mickey swallowed what Ian gave him, he looked at the redhead with glazed-over eyes. He leaned into Ian’s larger body, both of them glad to still be intimate given the limitations of their current situation.

“I can’t wait until we can fuck again,” Mickey complained. I just don’t want to pop my stitches, because then it means I’m here even longer. They’ve got to have lube in this place.”

“Those hot nurses turn you on?” Ian chuckled. “Or would you rather I play doctor with you? Didn’t know you had a medical play kink, Mickey.”

“I’d get shot and stabbed once a week if all the fucking nurses in this place looked like you and had your fucking enormous dick,” Mickey grinned. “We could ask, or snag some from the nurse’s station the next time that they ain’t looking.”

Ian went into the bathroom and rummaged in one of the drawers next to the sink. “They’ve probably at least got petroleum jelly. We‘re fucking pros at improvising after all of the really fucked-up places we’ve done it by now.”

To his delight, he came up with a small, still-sealed tube of KY Jelly. Ian swiped it, holding it up triumphantly to Mickey.

“Fucking jackpot.”


	11. Unfinished

“So, when will the feds come back to whisk you away to the land that was promised?” Ian asked Mickey.

“Don’t know. But don’t ever say shit like that again, because that was fucking terrible.”

Ian smirked and leaned closer into Mickey’s neck, delivering a small peck there.

The worst part about this game was waiting, Ian decided. Everything was going on behind the scenes, and he had no idea what was happening or when - or when it would be finished.

Ian thought to himself he needed a cigarette, even though he and Mickey were both on their way to quitting, Ian being the more successful of the two. They’d been able to sneak a few at Beckman in the PC unit, but Ian wasn’t sure if they were as easy to come by in every prison, or if all of the prisons had nicotine patches in the commissaries. He’d ask Mickey. 

It was like being a kid and waiting for a gift from Santa. At least, that’s what he’d figured it’d be like. “Santa” always seemed to run out of gifts by the time he reached Ian and Mickey’s neighborhood when they were kids.

As Ian and Mickey sat together in the too-small bed and watched an old rerun of “American Dad,” it occurred to both of them they had no idea when the U.S. Marshals would come. They came like thieves in the night, Mickey said, and whisked people away so that to all inquiring eyes, it looked like they’d just vanished without a trace.

As Mickey had said, it was like the stuff of movies. Now it was their own life. Presumably they’d take Mickey first, since his family was already in Buffalo. Would they take both of them, though? The thought of being taken separately from Mickey, and not knowing when he’d see him next, bothered Ian.

There was also the possibility Ian’s family may not go along with this. They could get the offer and then say no, Ian thought. Lip would be eager for a fresh start - a chance to go to college and maybe get a fresh start on the chances he’d pissed away like last night’s booze, just like his old man.

Would Carl have to give up military school? Ian marveled at how the youngest Gallagher son turned his life around after his ill-fated attempt to be a gang banger. He was disciplined, ambitious, determined - with the will to be the best soldier he could be and serve his country with pride.

 _Just like I used to be before I got sick,_ Ian thought. _Just like I was before my first manic episode, and before I threw that dream away because my head was fucked over Mickey. Before my genetics fucked me in the ass and I didn’t get to finish what I started._

Mickey looked over at Ian. “Hey, Gallagher. What’s up? You’ve got that look in your eye.”

“What look?” Ian asked.

“The one that says you’re thinking too much about shit you should leave in your past.”

Ian admitted defeat. Mickey had him there. Fucker knew him better than his own family did.

Just then, the two young men heard a knock at the door frame.

“Mr. McGuire?”

A tall man in a suit, carrying a briefcase was standing in the doorway. Mickey nodded to him in acknowledgment. He’d seen the man before. Behind him was Foxx, the county State’s Attorney.

“I’m Jerome Peterson, Assistant U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois,” the man said, introducing himself to Ian. “I’m prosecuting the Mendez cartel case and what we believe to have been a hit ordered on Mr. McGuire while he was incarcerated at Beckman Correctional.”

“You got any more word on how that fucker got into the PC unit to try and off me?” Mickey asked. 

“I‘m actually here to bring you some updates,” Peterson said. “The good news? We figured out how the cartel men got into the PC unit. The bad news? We hit a dead end unless we get some hard evidence or someone talks.”

“Yeah?” Mickey asked, sitting up straighter in his bed. He was recovering well, according to the surgical team. He’d be ready to be moved any day now, and it was only a matter of time before he’d find out when it would be.

“Yes. I’ve been working with Kaye on this case, and we’ve compared notes. We’re still in the process of conducting interviews with anyone else we think may have had the chance or motive to help Cortez,” he said.

“Can you call my attorney, and then we’ll talk?” Ian told him.

 

* * *

 

Once Garcia arrived, Peterson pulled up enough chairs for all of them. He sat in one and took a deep breath.

“We pulled the security footage near where the COs swipe in to access the PC unit. We noticed after one particular CO exited for his lunch break, the door had been left ajar...possibly by accident, possibly not,” Foxx explained.

“Oh?” Mickey said.

“As this CO was standing in the doorway, we saw him duck into the camera‘s blind spot while still holding the door open with his body. Looked like he was tying his shoe, but we believe he was rigging the door,” she continued.

Ian huffed in agitation. “Great. So you got the guy on tape, but can’t prove he did anything on purpose to let those guys in? Who was the CO?”

“It was Gerard Copeland,” Peterson said. “Did you have any reason to suspect him of any wrongdoing? How much did you interact with him?”

Ian looked at Mickey, thinking for a minute. Copeland? The grumpy ass CO who barely said three words? Usually it was Williams or Duncan who escorted them to and from their cell. Copeland hadn’t been on their radar.

“Not a lot,” Ian said. “He was always real quiet and seemed pissed off most of the time. Why would he have any reason to let those guys in?”

Peterson explained that about five minutes after Copeland left, the camera caught two inmates sneaking into the PC unit, again leaving the door ajar. Two minutes later, three more inmates, including Cortez, appeared in the frame. Their bodies blocked the camera’s view of their feet as they shuffled by in a huddle, bumping into each other as they walked through the narrow door.

After the second group passed, the door was no longer ajar in the video. Once the prison went on lockdown, all five of the intruders had presumably tried to sneak back, but were caught.

“We can’t prove it, but we think Copeland pretended to tie his shoe, and it was a ruse to stick something small in the bottom of the door to keep it from shutting,” Peterson said. “The problem is: the camera didn’t catch what he did. If he stuck something there, he did it where he knew there was a blind spot if we pulled the tapes.” 

Mickey looked at Ian, aghast. Would their testimony even do any good? Ian wanted the bastard put away, but if they had nothing to go on, what good would his testimony of seeing Cortez stabbing Mickey be if they couldn’t get the guy who’d helped him in?

His expression unreadable, Peterson explained Copeland was under intense scrutiny. He‘d denied doing anything else besides tying his shoe, leaving anything in the door on purpose, or even knowing the cartel thugs would be coming. 

“They didn’t find a doorstop, or anything that could have been used as one, there,” Peterson said. “And nothing Kaye could get out of anyone else in the prison proved otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Mickey swore. “Can you at least prove it was Cortez who tried to off me?”

“Cortez said he was provoked. He said you shoved him first and threatened him,” Foxx told Mickey. “Only thing Cortez admitted to was having the knife, but he wouldn’t say where he got it. Said there was a tussle, you tried to grab it, and he used it in self-defense.”

Mickey’s face grew red with rage. “That’s fucking bullshit!”

“We figured as much, but we have no way to prove that, so either somebody needs to flip or we need more proof,” Peterson said. “It’s the word of one inmate against another, and the others refused to talk. We tried to shake them, but nobody budged,” Foxx said. “Cortez denied knowing you’re a protected witness - which we know is bullshit, but we can’t prove it.”

Ian’s heart sank. Without any proof of any connection between Copeland and the cartel, would they even be able to put anyone away at all for trying to murder Mickey? Would his testimony do any good at all?

“Will you ensure Mr. Gallagher and Mr. McGuire stay together once Mr. McGuire gets moved?” Garcia asked. “The plan was for them to be in the same prison, and get married so they enter witness protection as spouses.”

“All I can tell you is that a plan is in the works,” Peterson said. “I’m not at liberty to say more. We just came here today to fill you in on the Beckman investigation, but it’s still a long way from finished. We will leave you alone now.”

With that, Peterson and Foxx left. Garcia sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“Ian, I am so sorry,” Garcia said. “Foxx, Peterson - neither of them had any way of knowing this was going to happen, or they would’ve got Mickey out of Chicago sooner.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that now, ain’t it?” Mickey shot back.

Ian wondered how Mickey was so sure  they were being moved together. Ian hoped Mickey didn’t misunderstand - he wasn’t exactly a lawyer. Neither Garcia nor Foxx seemed to know anything, and Peterson wasn’t talking.

“Do you know anything about whether I’ll be able to enter the program as a witness?” Ian asked. “If they can do that for me, then we don’t have to rush into getting married.”

“Like I’ve told you, this is top-secret. Like, stuff you’d see in spy movies. I wish I could tell you, but that’s above my pay grade,” Garcia said. “I’ll work on getting the marriage license rushed, so you have a backup plan if they don’t end up moving you together.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. “I think we are good for now. Mickey and I want to be alone to talk this over a little more.”

 

* * *

 

After Garcia had gone, Mickey smirked at Ian, looking suspiciously like the cat who ate the canary.

“You sure you know what you’re talking about?” Ian asked. “You were so fucking sure yesterday, but none of them knew jack shit about it today.”

Mickey burst out laughing. “I love knowing more than some of these suits. Peterson was playing dumb. He came in here the other day. I made him agree to moving you with me, or else I wouldn’t give him the Skype testimony he needed to put away Rivera - that I got stabbed over in the first place.”

“Really?” Ian’s eyes widened. “You were able to get him to agree to that?”

“Yup,” Mickey said. “Told him I wouldn’t testify against Cortez, either, if they didn’t agree to protect you. He’s in my pocket, Ian. He told me the U.S. Marshals would be coming, and he’s got us covered.”

“Jesus, Mickey. When you said you have my back, you weren’t fucking around,” Ian said. “This is why I love you.”

“I love you, too, Firecrotch,” Mickey said. “Fucking always.”

Ian nuzzled against his man, just happy again for the opportunity to be so close to him since they didn’t know when they would be going to Buffalo. It felt like a role in a secret agent film, but Ian still was feeling anxious.

“How is your stomach?” Ian asked. “Let me see how it looks. Add another scar to your collection, right?”

Mickey lifted his hospital gown. The healing incision was just under his ribs on the left side. Ian whistled. The cartel may have still had unfinished business, but at least they didn’t finish it this time. Mickey was extremely lucky.

“Shit, Mickey. He did a number on you,” Ian said. “You’re lucky that’s all you got.”

“Right? I can’t believe that asshole fucking told the feds I started it. What a tool - somebody else needs to gut that cocksucker from gut to gob,” Mickey complained. “D’ya think they believe me?”

“You’ve already given them stuff about the cartel, and those leads ended up working out pretty good,” Ian said. “They know you didn’t bullshit them. Talking of which: will you ever tell me what you ended up doing in Mexico?”

Mickey cast Ian a look, eyes not really focusing, which made Ian regret this line of questioning. From what Mickey had told him, it wasn’t an easy existence in Mexico. As curious as Ian was, he felt guilty about drudging it up and having Mick relive that again.

Mickey lived on the very edges of society, Ian reminded himself. He had to live like a nomad. He forced himself back in the closet for fear of his life, faking it until he made it. He probably drowned his sorrows over Ian in drink and drugs, if he knew his fiancé well. 

Ian’s face felt hot. It was fucking Terry all over again, and it was all his fault, Ian thought miserably. The guilt was going to eat him alive, and he still felt like he’d be making it up to Mickey forever. He’d done that to the love of his life.

“Do you really want to know?” Mickey scoffed. “It wasn’t exactly living out of five-star hotels and eating steak and caviar every day.”

“Mick. I know that,” Ian started. “I just want to know what you did, because as shitty as it was, it’s part of the man you are now. Who I’m marrying.”

Mickey paused, as if he wasn’t sure whether to keep going.

“I know what you’re thinking, Ian. Don’t feel guilty. You’re too good for the shit that I had to do. It was a lot of dead bodies, secrets and corruption,” he said. “Disgusting work. I saw dudes twice my size getting murdered, and I had to see nobody ever found them. Had I not turned myself in, I would’ve gone down with the rest. We were close to getting fucking raided, like I told you.”

Ian shuddered. “I told you about how we had to dig up my mother’s body to pay off her old meth dealer, right? My life was no walk in the park, either. I had to act like it was okay when I was the only one who gave a solitary shit my mother died. That was terrible.”

Mickey’s eyes softened. Monica was Ian’s weak spot, much as Mickey’s own mother was a bright light in the darkness of growing up a Milkovich. Mickey seldom talked about her, but he would’ve given nearly anything for one more minute with his mother, her thick Ukrainian accent a distant memory by now.

Mickey became a different, softer man when he discussed his mom. He wondered if Mickey would have ended up on a better path had she lived. Terry became meaner and even more unhinged after she had passed away.

“Hey. Come here,” Mickey said. He hugged Ian. “Now that my stomach is better, we ought to put the lube to good use. Who knows when we’ll be able to fuck once I get carted off?”

“Mmm. I always love fucking you,” Ian said in a husky voice, leaning into Mickey’s ear. “I love feeling your ring of muscle squeezing my cock head as I push into you. You’re always so warm and tight. Still so good after we’ve been doing it for so long.”

“Yeah. My asshole should be sore from how much you’ve been pounding it for the last few months,” Mickey said, grinning. “With all of the fucking we’ve done - with spit as lube - over the years, I’m shocked you haven’t hurt me with that fucking baseball bat.”

“You love it,” Ian demurred. “You love my thick, fat cock stretching your hole until it feels like you’re gonna split. You love it when I rub your prostate until you whine and beg for me to let you bust a nut.”

“That I do,” Mickey grinned. “Let’s do it before we both blow this popsicle stand and go to greener pastures. Try to be careful with my stomach, but I think I can handle it.”

Ian climbed on top of Mickey’s bed, carefully positioning himself between Mickey’s pale thighs, spread invitingly for Ian’s cock, which was already throbbing and engorged for his man.

After Ian handed Mickey the little tube of KY Jelly and he worked himself open with his fingers, little whines emulating from his throat driving Ian crazy.

Ian very carefully climbed on top of the bed and, positioning his head at Mickey’s stretched hole, slid into the welcoming tunnel. It was like home.

“Fuuuuuck,” Ian groaned. “I missed this so much. Don’t know how I went so long without it. You always feel so fucking good. So tight and hot.”

“Ugh. Fuck me hard, Ian,” Mickey panted. He tried his best to still his hips, wanting to get off without paying the steep price of injuring his surgical incision.

“Fuck. So good.” Ian pulled out almost all the way, marveling at how Mickey’s tight muscles flexed around his cock, watching the tight rim stretch to its maximum girth around his head, before pushing back in, seeing his shaft disappear slowly into his partner’s body. 

“Stop fucking around and fuck me the way you want to. I’ll let you know if it hurts,” Mickey said. “It’s been too long. I hated not being able to take you deep inside me, fucking me good and hard like I like it. Now stop screwing around now, because I want you so bad.”

“My bossy bottom,” Ian purred. “I love you when you’re so needy like this, because you know you’ll be my bitch.”

“Fuck you. I ain’t no bitch,” Mickey said, but the would-be intent behind his words dissolved as Ian hit his prostate, making him whine loudly at the jolt of pleasure that ripped through his body.

“Fuck!” he whined, his voice at a pitch decidedly not beneficial to refuting the point that he was Ian’s bitch.

“You fucking love it. Don’t go bullshitting me,” Ian said.

Knowing it wouldn’t be much longer, Ian sped up, making sure to angle his thrusts to maximize the pleasure for Mickey, his smaller body shuddering. He focused on driving him nuts with the constant steady pressure that felt so good.

With a long whine, Mickey reached his edge. Trying his hardest to stay quiet, he spurted his release between their bodies, some getting onto Ian’s stomach. Ian, more turned on than ever from watching Mickey orgasm and feeling his internal muscles contract around his cock, went over the precipice as well.

A minute later, Ian blew his load inside his fiancé, enjoying the slick feeling of his seed inside the smaller man’s body before his dick became too sensitive and he had to stop. 

Once he got to that point, Ian pulled out, reached over to the end table and handed Mickey a tissue to wipe himself down, also taking one for his own use. He felt so close to Mickey, so loved, and he this felt so right and perfect. 

“You think they’d care if I spent the night in here?” Ian asked.

“Probably not. I mean, I’m gonna get moved out of here soon anyway and it might be weird if the U.S. Marshals find us in bed like this, but I don’t give a fuck if you don’t. Guess I’ve come a long way, Gallagher,” Mickey remarked. “It’s nice to not give a shit who knows I’m gay for your dick.”

“You’re telling me.”


	12. Vanished

The U.S. Marshals came the next night. At the hour they chose, even light knocking would have been deafening, like a cattle prod against concrete in the quiet hospital room.

Ian, jarred awake, barely had time to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Four men, wearing uniforms that looked like a cross between military garb and something out of Halo Reach, stood in unmistakably “do not fuck with me” stances. If their posture wasn’t intimidating, their Glocks were. All four faces were covered.

Ian knew, since he well and truly trusted Mickey when he told him the Marshals would be coming. He’d trust Mickey with his very life, knowing his little thug would fucking move heaven and earth for him. This was no exception. Even so, Ian felt woefully unprepared for what he figured was about to follow.

“Ian Gallagher? Get dressed and come with us, please,” one of the men said.

It would never have occurred to Ian to do anything other than obey. Even Mickey, the scourge of the South Side of Chicago in his heyday as a hoodlum, was Dennis the Menace compared to these guys. He doubted that even Mickey would have had the audacity to give them any of his signature attitude.

 _Get dressed? I don’t have any of my stuff. What am I supposed to wear?_ Ian thought.

As if an answer to his question, one of the men handed Ian a shrink-wrapped bag marked with black Sharpie. Labeled with Ian’s name and inmate number at Beckman, it contained the clothes he’d worn into the prison, the ones he discarded for his canary jumpsuit and turned in on his first day.

Ian noticed the bag also had the rest of the items he’d gone in with, including his iPhone he hadn’t seen in over six months. Ian went behind the curtain and changed into his stuff, glad to wear his clothes if only for a little while.

He shouldn’t have been surprised they’d come for him today, since the previous day Ian had been medically cleared to leave. He wondered how many people behind the scenes, strangers whose names he’d never know, it took to arrange something like this.

Ian stood up and followed the men into the hall. Not knowing where they were going and not daring to ask, he followed them down flights of stairs into what Ian guessed to be underground tunnels of the hospital. It stood to reason that they wouldn’t walk him out the front door.

Once they were outside, Ian noticed it was pitch-black. He wondered what time it was, since his phone and watch were dead. An unmarked van waited outside in the parking ramp. The uniformed men helped Ian get into the back seat.

Once the driver put the keys in the ignition and the engine roared to life, Ian looked up to see that its dashboard clock said 3 a.m. It was eerie. No music played on the radio, and no one spoke. It really was like he was vanishing into thin air, like a thief in the night.

 

* * *

 

They drove for about half an hour before the van pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a converted motel. Ian figured if the cartel thugs were looking for him, they wouldn’t think to do it here. It almost looked vacant.

Two of the men helped Ian out before leading him into the building, turning a corner before opening a heavy door. Ian walked into a throng of Gallaghers - minus Carl - in the lobby, with armed guards at the only other exit.

They all ran to him. The youngest Gallaghers, including Franny and Liam, were wearing pajamas, and most had duffle bags or backpacks. Even Frank, looking as weatherbeaten and more like a drowned rat than ever, was there.

“Ian!” Fiona said, pulling her younger brother closely into her. “We didn’t know when they would come to get you. They told us in the van what was happening. They are going to keep us here for a bit, have us fill out some paperwork here, and then fly us to Washington, D.C. in a private plane.”

“Where’s Carl?” Ian asked.

“Still at military school. He didn’t want to go, and since they all have guns we figure he’ll be safe,” Lip said. “His superiors have been filled in, so they won’t let anything happen. Who’d have thought of all of us, Carl would make something of himself? At least he can still get to go to West Point.”

Ian thought, with less jealousy than he’d expected to feel, that his little brother would have the military career he dreamt of. At least Carl, the Gallagher with the most to lose, wouldn’t suffer as a result of Ian’s actions.

“They just showed up at the house, told us to pack what we could carry and leave,” Lip said in an uncharacteristically hushed tone. “We thought Frank did something else to get us in trouble, but then they explained what the fuck it was. Talked to us in the car.”

Frank mumbled something about ungrateful children and this expedition being paid for by the U.S. taxpayers, so they might as well enjoy it. Ian suspected that the prospect of Frank legally acquiring a Social Security card and free money from the U.S. government played a no-insignificant role in his decision to come.

“How much did they tell you?” Ian asked. “Did they mention when they’ll be taking Mickey? Where is he?”

“They didn’t tell us much,” Fiona said. “They set us up in a few rooms here a few days ago, with tons of security so nobody can walk in or out. We had five minutes to pack up and fuck off once we agreed to go.”

“Frank didn’t want to come,” Liam said, “but we reminded him Gallaghers stick together.”

“Say what you will, Liam, but I must extend my gratitude to these gentlemen who are helping clean up after your big brother’s rendezvous with the American justice system,” Frank retorted. “Rest assured that I played no part in anything Ian might have done to get us in this precarious situation.”

“Except make Gay Jesus T-shirts out of our living room, sell them at a 200 percent markup to suckers, and exploit another mentally ill Gallagher for all he’s worth,” Lip muttered.”

“Well, Phillip, who can fault me for doing what any entrepreneur would do?” Frank said. “I saw a bad situation. Since I couldn’t reason with my wayward son, I made the best of it by helping at-risk youth of the South Side. The lost boys.”

Lip snorted. “So, this witness protection shit is real? I had read stuff about it and all, but I wasn’t sure how they’d actually make it work. It’s not like we had time to memorize Wikipedia.”

With that, one of the Marshals motioned to the Gallaghers that it was time to proceed to a makeshift conference room. The family sat around the U-shaped formation of tables there, and each adult family member received a thick stack of papers, a pen and a notepad.

“Just so you know: this room has been soundproofed and we are locked in,” one of the men added. “We will explain to you why you are here and the rules of the WITSEC program. Please be very certain that you wish to proceed before signing anything. You’ll be safe and protected...if you follow the rules. You have the option to leave. If you choose to do so, we will escort you out of this building at any time.”

Ian sat as straight as he could while the Gallaghers were informed of the basic rules of witness protection. They’d be sent to a briefing center outside of Washington, D.C., for an extensive orientation.

Upon hearing again that he couldn’t contact anyone at home, Ian felt a twinge in his heart at the thought of Kev, V, Amy, Gemma and the other denizens of the South Side not knowing what had happened to the Gallaghers. They would have simply vanished.

Additionally, he wondered what would happen to their family home, to Patsy’s. They’d never be able to see them again. He couldn’t even visit Monica’s grave - his mother was well and truly gone, Ian thought, with nothing to remember her by except an awful tattoo that had to be touched up. With a still-heavier heart, he thought of Yev. Unless Mickey could bend the rules, he probably would never be able to ever see the little boy again.

Ian’s degree of fame he’d achieved on the Internet before he went to jail posed a challenge, but the family was told it was “dealt with.” If recognized, they could not acknowledge anyone who knew them as the Gallaghers from Chicago. They were to ignore it and pretend it was a mere case of mistaken identity.

The Marshals went over the information packets the Gallaghers had in front of them, and answered questions. They had the choice of keeping their first names, and were advised to pick a last name. Many WITSEC participants kept their initials to ease the transition.

Ian decided he’d keep his first name, thinking it would be too tough for Mickey if he changed it. He couldn’t risk slip-ups that would result in the whole family needing to be moved again. None of the other Gallaghers wanted to change their first names, although Frank said he’d once again be going by Francis in Buffalo.

Their next task: agreeing on a last name. With Ian and Debbie being the freckled gingers they were, Fiona suggested another Irish-sounding name. After some more deliberation, they decided that instead of the Gallaghers, they would be the Gallivans from Cleveland.

After relaying this information to the Marshals, the soon-to-be Gallivans were told once they got to Washington, they’d then finalize the change. They’d receive new driver’s licenses, birth certificates, Social Security cards and other documents once they were set up in their temporary home.

_This is really it, Ian thought. We may have been fuckups before, but this is our second chance. Who would’ve fucking thought that all it’d take would be going to jail to set us free?_


	13. Waiting

The motel seemed so dingy on the outside. Nobody would ever know it was used to house families who were about to enter witness protection, which was the point - so Ian supposed in that respect, it did its job well enough.

He also realized this was still a waiting game. The place was crawling with guards, Marshals with arsenals that could give even Mickey a fucking wet dream, Ian mused. None of them could reveal when they’d all head to D.C. 

They were tended to well with breakfast, lunch and dinner. There was an exercise room downstairs. But there wasn’t much else. The primary function of the WiFi seemed to be to wipe social media and cloud accounts, as the Marshals ordered. They reset their smartphones to factory settings and did what they could to erase online footprints, leading to another perk of being in WITSEC.

The U.S. government had the authority to do what scores of hapless college students wished they could after rowdy shenanigans: they got the worst of Ian’s Gay Jesus social media presence removed from YouTube, Facebook and other sites. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank fuck. 

Granted the story was still on news and activist pages, but the smaller his online footprint the better. He hoped grainy stills that were still out there wouldn’t be enough to hold interest, and the public would forget what Ian Gallagher looked like and move on to the next fad.

Living out of a building like this, with nobody willing to tell the Gallaghers/Gallivans when their move would happen, was like something out of running around with Monica, squatting in abandoned buildings and living out of cars and motels, but this was actually fun.

 _That was ironic,_ Ian thought. It was the same type of hoofing it he did during his worst episodes, but this had two lights at the end of the tunnel: Mickey and Buffalo. Plus, he lived in close quarters with his family like this his whole life and missed this at Beckman. In a fucked-up way, it was like being home again. At least he’d be in Gowanda for only a short time before getting out. 

“Lip! Can you finish jerking off in there and let me use the bathroom? I gotta pee and take a shower, and then brush Franny’s teeth!” Debbie called out. “Some of us are strong women with kids to care for, and your dick won’t fall off!”

“Yo, I’m taking a shit!” Lip screamed from the other side of the bathroom door.

Pounding came from the room on their left. “Can a hard-working, taxpaying citizen get some peace and quiet in a government-operated facility?” Frank yelled. “Jesus Christ! No respect at all!”

Ian snorted into his pillow. When he’d gotten here, the family was occupying three rooms: Lip, Debbie and Franny in one; Fiona in another, and Frank and Liam in a third. They drew straws to see who got stuck with Frank. Fiona claimed she’d rather just take her chances with the cartel, so the Marshals gave her a room to herself.

Ian joined Lip, Debbie and Franny. He wanted to be around the largest group of his family he could, and enjoy this before he went back to prison.

“You know what? I really missed this,” Ian laughed. “Some things never fucking change.”

“Says the guy who woke us up with an alarm clock set to go off at ass o’clock in the morning the day after he went to jail,” Lip snarked as he left the bathroom, flipping Debbie off.

“My point exactly. Like it? That was fucking hilarious,” Ian chortled. “And like hell you were taking a shit, but I can’t say I’ve had to deal with that problem in recent months.” 

“Hey, we can’t all have hot gay prison sex like some people here,” Lip retorted. “Some of us are boring-ass straight dudes who have needs.”

Ian smirked, looking like the cat that had eaten the canary. “Remember how you asked me how the sex was after I came back from the border? Well, it’s still fucking fantastic.”

Lip flipped Ian off, mumbling something under his breath about finding aloe in this motel for that burn. Ian pumped his fist in mock victory. 

“Speaking of which, when are you gonna see Mickey again?” Lip asked, digging through one of the dresser drawers for a change of clothes. “I hear you were talking of getting married? Never thought I’d see him again, but the dude just keeps turning up like a bad penny.”

“Yeah. The feds were gonna come for him once he’s recovered,” Ian said. “Or they already took him. Mickey told me he’d pulled some strings so we both end up in Gowanda once we get moved. The feds have every reason to kiss his ass since he’s a protected witness who got hurt on their watch. It looks really bad on them.” 

“Sounds like a Milkovich to me,” Lip said. “They know the system so well, they can take advantage of loopholes in jail as well as we Gall-...Gallivans can on the outside.”

“Well, he’s Mickey McGuire now,” Ian added. “Guess I rubbed off on him since he went from Ukrainian to Irish.”

“Guess we all just have magic cocks? You stuck it in him for so long, it changed his nationality.” They snorted with laughter at Lip’s stupid joke. 

“Yeah. Terry didn’t go. He’ll rot in the South Side. A bunch of the rest of them are already set up there,” Ian said. “It’s Iggy, Joey and Man-...oh, fuck. 

Lip’s face darkened a bit at the mention of his ex’s name. They never talked about her, but Lip wondered how much she and Ian stayed in touch. At least Ian didn’t fault him for driving her into the arms of that abusive dick and into Indiana - at least, he hoped Ian hadn’t. Lip felt a new twinge of guilt.

“She’s doing okay, from what Mickey’s told me. I fucking miss her, but you guys will have to sort out your shit at some point now that you’re in the same city,” Ian warned. ”Since we gotta lie about our histories to anybody we meet, I have a feeling we’ll see a lot of each other. Can’t exactly spill our guts to strangers when shit gets hard, since this’ll be rough on all of us.”

“Don’t fucking guilt trip me, Ian. You were no angel, Gay Jesus. For a son of God, you committed enough sins in your day to fill a fucking whorehouse. And you not being able to keep your cock out of Mickey was what got us all in here to begin with, in case you forgot.” 

“Thanks a lot, asshole.”

Sighing, Lip flopped down onto the bed. “Sorry. I’ve actually been thinking I should go back to school and get my degree, but I was too busy fucking taking care of everybody else besides myself to do it. Maybe this is the fresh start I needed.”

“Yeah. I don’t even know what I’m going to do once I get there. I never had a contingency plan besides Mickey, you know? The EMT job was great, but once I lost him, I didn’t know what else to do,” Ian said. “I love him, Lip. Always have. He’s everything to me. It killed me to fucking leave him in Mexico, and I don’t know how he forgave me.” 

“I did say you always went a little loco when Mickey was around, but I guess that’s better than feeling nothing,” Lip said. “Fuck if I haven’t done stupid shit for love. Isn’t it supposed to be raw and destructive, not cute? Now I’m fucking quoting goddamn Frank.”

Ian once heard a song on the radio about how it was better to feel pain than nothing at all. He couldn’t recall the title or artist, but back when he was adjusting to his meds the first time, those lyrics spoke to him. He felt so shitty, even burning his hand on the stove at Patsy’s just so he could feel anything was better than being a zombie.

“What is that fucking song about how ‘I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all?’” Ian asked. “It’s some rock group. That’s how Mickey and I are, I guess. We’ve hurt each other so many times, but we can’t live without each other, because the good is so good, it’s worth it.” 

“Three Days Grace. The song is called ‘Pain,’” Lip said.

“Ah, okay. But whoever those guys are, they’re right.” Ian sat up in bed. “You ever think when we were kids, we’d be fucking comparing notes on how you don’t wanna be Frank, and I don’t wanna be Monica?”

“Um, probably?” Lip said. “I never wanted to be like either of those fuckheads.”

They chuckled. That was all they really could do at this point.

Another loud knock, much louder than Frank’s feeble ones from several minutes ago, almost made Ian and Lip jump out of their skin. Debbie shrieked in the bathroom, and they all heard Franny start to cry. 

“U.S. Marshals! Get dressed and get ready to come with us in 15 minutes!” a deep voice boomed.

Ian and Lip looked at each other and nodded. This was it...they were bound for D.C.


	14. Capital

If anyone had told Ian before this day that he and his family (formerly the Gallaghers from the South Side of Chicago) would be flying to Washington, D.C. on a private plane, he never would’ve believed it. Plane tickets were a luxury totally out of reach for people like himself, especially a family of six kids. But it was real and happening today.

Never having flown on a plane before, Ian didn’t know what to expect. Planes were stuff of middle-class families who could afford to go to Disney, businessmen and celebrities, not South Side trash like himself, but that had all changed.

The family piled onto the plane in a ungainly mass of humanity, never having taken any form of transportation before aside from cars, the L or buses. As the engine of the small plane roared to life, Ian hoped he wouldn’t get motion sickness.

When the plane sped up, Ian noticed it was going much faster than the L, a car or anything he had experienced, until it began to ascend into the skies above Chicago. He looked out the window, feeling a childlike innocence of this being his first flight, and a twinge of sadness knowing his childhood home, growing smaller somewhere on the horizon, was a memory he’d never be returning to.

The weirdly popping ears kind of hurt, but the Gallivans crowded around the windows, chattering and marveling at buildings below as they got even tinier.

All of them found their own ways to pass the fairly brief plane ride to the nation’s capital. Debbie was pointing out to Liam what looked like the Sears Tower. Franny shrieked when they hit turbulence, since it felt like a carnival ride. Ian saw it as a means to an end, while Lip was trying to estimate the plane‘s speed. Fiona read a book on real estate. Frank slept.

Not knowing how long it would take to cross only a few state lines, Ian considered what was waiting for them. The Marshals said they’d be briefed there. Probably more papers to fill out, and being put in a motel or hotel again until he was transported to and booked into prison about an hour south of Buffalo.

Even though it had been just less than a week since he last saw Mickey, Ian missed him, especially after having seen him almost bleed to death on the shower floor at Beckman. He thought he remembered Mickey’s number, but they had no reception even if their phones hadn’t already gotten reset to factory settings.

 

* * *

 

After their plane touched down in Washington, the Gallivans were quickly ushered out and into more waiting vehicles. Ian noticed, with a mixture of trepidation and relief, that these appeared to be military-grade armored vans with black curtains blocking out all of the vehicle’s windows.

“What the fuck?” Ian said. “This is some psycho thriller shit.”

“Right? They can’t risk anybody finding out what their secret base looks like, or how to get there,” Lip said. “Anybody in here got a compass? I could probably figure out the route if I tried hard enough.”

The next time the van stopped, presumably at a red light, the look the driver shot Lip was enough to stop an elephant in its tracks. The eldest brother got the hint and shut up.

From what Ian had been told, the WITSEC orientation site was in some suburb of Washington, but nobody outside of the U.S. Marshals, an extremely select few, knew its exact location. Anybody unlucky enough to ever find out would have to be killed, Ian thought darkly.

Ian had no idea how long they’d been driving when the vehicle he was riding in stopped. He heard a loud mechanical sound, after which the driver got out, opened the doors and herded Ian, Lip, Debbie and Franny out. Fiona, Frank and Liam stepped out of the other vehicle.

It looked like they had walked into a sea of concrete walls. The vans had pulled into a garage with no windows. The sound they’d heard must have been the garage door closing.

“Wow,” Debbie said. “Look at this, Franny! We’re inside their house for the families who stay here. They’re going to protect all of us from bad guys.”

More armed officers led the group down a series of corridors until they arrived in a drab room lined with tables and chairs. Once Ian and the ex-Gallaghers had taken a seat, a Marshal told them they’d get more paperwork and be briefed. Another man wheeled in a cart with a small TV and fiddled with a DVD player to start playing a video.

After hearing a brief history of the WITSEC program, they learned that the structure they were now in was built to house up to six families, all of whom would be housed separately from one another. The Marshals informed them it was an actual bomb shelter.

“Yeah, because they heard Ginger Pillow Pyro would be coming!” Frank yelled.

Ian sank down into his chair and facepalmed.

“Shut the fuck up, Frank!” Fiona spit at him. “I’m so sorry. Go on. Thank you.”

The Marshals stressed that all of their lives literally depended on following the program guidelines from this moment on, and the family was warned not to underestimate the emotional toll of never being able to return home, so counseling would be made available to them due to this inherent trauma.

They’d be here for two weeks and would be provided with groceries, toiletries and other needed items. They could not leave rooms unescorted. While here, they had to study books, newspapers and other similar materials on Buffalo and Cleveland to familiarize themselves with both where they were going and where they had supposedly once lived.

Ian was surprisingly fine with these stipulations, since they could mean the difference between life and death if anyone else from the cartel tried to target Mickey or himself. The incident in the Beckman showers shook him more than he’d realized, since his nightmares were still unwelcome guests. At least he had some time here before he got locked up again.

 

* * *

 

Having his family in such close proximity was probably the main reason why he wasn’t even panicking about this, Ian thought. That night, Fiona was pacing their room, muttering about Patsy’s and who‘d be managing the place she’d put her open blood, sweat and tears into. She’d already had a panic attack over not being able to say goodbye to Kev and V.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to them. I’ll never see them again! I’m so fucking sorry, V!” Fiona wailed. Lip took her shoulder and leaned in to comfort her, knowing there wasn’t anything else he could do.

It didn’t even occur to Ian or anyone else to blame her for this, because were he anyone else with a future and not a Gallagher fuckup, having to go through anything like this would be extremely trying. For all of his squabbles with Fiona, he had to commend her for her indomitable will and her drive to succeed and get out of the South Side. She was getting out, but Ian figured this wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

Ian had been told that after what would presumably be another plane ride to Buffalo, Ian would be booked into Gowanda Correctional Facility, while everyone else would get to go to their new residence.

At the present moment, he sat on a bed, poring through the various reading materials they’d been given on Buffalo and Cleveland. Ian read the passage he had in front of him, on the redevelopment of the Buffalo waterfront, a third time to try and commit it to memory.

“Hey, it fucking says here they have a statue of a girl with a shark’s head right on the riverfront in downtown Buffalo, and it’s a huge tourist attention. People actually come from miles around to take selfies with a statue of a little girl with a shark’s head on a human body,” Ian laughed. “That’s some crazy shit. Maybe we are gonna fit in there after all.”

Lip snorted. “Yeah, it can’t be crazier than Debbie putting Fiona’s ex on a fucking billboard and all of us shooting paintballs at his ass.”

Fiona just snickered. “Fucking Ford.”

“Right?” Debbie roared. “That was great. The asshole deserved it for fucking with you, the lying misogynistic scumbag.”

“What about when DCFS fucking showed up at the house after the gig Mickey, Iggy and I tried to pull at Ned’s?” Ian cackled. “I still feel bad about Mickey getting shot, but at least we can laugh now about how Ned’s wife fucking shot him in the ass. Ned had just taken out the bullet when the DCFS lady walked in.”

They all laughed. Fiona cast her siblings a look clearly intended to be one of stern disapproval, but the facade soon cracked and she joined in with them.

“Fiona heard Mickey screaming from outside because she was out there digging up Aunt Ginger,” Debbie said. “Bet the whole neighborhood did. He’s got a set of lungs, but I always liked Mickey.”

Lip almost snorted out the sip of pop he’d just taken.

“How is it any different from any other day when he was at our house?” he cheesed. ”Fuck, Ian. I got so many texts from everyone bitching about it when I was at school. Said it sounded like he was fucking dying, or like you were whipping him. But hey, if he’s into that then he wouldn’t be the first Milkovich.”

“Holy fuck! TMI!” Ian shot back. “And I had to listen to _you_ fuck who-knows-how-many girls, so you can shut the fuck up. At least Mickey’s a dude and doesn’t have a shrill voice. Don’t know how you can listen to that right in your ear all the time without going deaf. Fuck.”

Something else dawned on Ian. He closed the newspaper he was reading. “Hey Lip, speaking of cops: you gotta stop calling him Milkovich, or we will all be in deep fucking shit.”

“Right,” Lip course corrected. “Witness protection. That’ll take getting used to.”

 

* * *

 

As they turned in for the night, Ian felt another twinge of regret for putting his family through this. He reminded himself, though, with the exceptions of Liam and Franny, all of them were legal adults who made up their minds. They chose this, Ian reminded himself. They chose to support him in this.

Once the Gallivans arrived in Buffalo, they‘d be set up in temporary housing, given a stipend and encouraged to be self-sufficient as soon as possible. They would all get new Social Security cards, driver’s licenses and even falsified school records for Liam. Frank asked the Marshals to improve his grades and turn his lowest grade, a “B”, into an “A”. They refused.

Ian‘s history would be rewritten to fabricate a fictitious low-level drug sentence that landed him there. Once he got out, it would be expunged so he’d have no record.

Mickey, he guessed, would be waiting for Ian since he was already in the WITSEC program, and would be going directly from Chicago to Buffalo instead of having to make this pit stop in D.C.

 _He’d finally be free,_ Ian thought. _This is what he wanted for himself and Mickey._ He hoped his family didn’t blame him for making them do this.


	15. Testify

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing note: I realized after publishing this chapter that something was factually incorrect in it (in the discussion where the prosecutors are talking about testifying), so I slightly changed a paragraph to reflect this.

“Do you remember what our backstory is going to be? I’m still afraid I’m going to forget it,” Ian asked Debbie and Lip for what felt like the hundredth time.

After completing their WITSEC briefing, they’d been moved again. This time, they were in a non-descript hotel somewhere in D.C. or a nearby suburb, where they’d be staying until the Marshals could find them suitable accommodations in Buffalo.

Once they got settled, they’d be given a car and checks to cover living expenses for up to six months, including rent. After that time period, they’d be expected to be financially independent and payments would stop. At some point, the Marshals would be coming to ship Ian off to Gowanda Correctional, but none of them knew when.

“Yes,” Lip said. “You don’t have to remember shit for us, because your story is the only one of ours that they really had to hack up to make it work. It had something to do with you being the protected witness and not the rest of us, but they also think you look like that crazy ginger gay EMT whose videos were all over YouTube before the feds yanked them. I don’t know why. I watched what they were talking about, and I don’t think you look like that fucker. He was better-looking.”

“Fuck you,” Ian said. “I’m serious. Remind me again so that you refresh my memory, because I’m still afraid things are going to get fucked up after we move to Buffalo. If any of us slips up at all, we’re going to have to start over with this shit yet again. They’ll move us someplace else, and we won’t even have any choice of what city they stash us away in this time.”

Sighing, Lip obliged. “Fine. We grew up dirt poor in Akron. I’m still a bike mechanic who dropped out of college. Debbie is still a welder. Fiona dropped out of high school to care for us and since she’s the main breadwinner, we all had to move when she found a job in Buffalo. Frank is still Frank. They made fake school records for Liam in Akron’s public-school system and, if we play our cards right, Frank can get him in one of the private schools in Buffalo. It’s Frank, so he’s inevitably going to try.”

According to Ian’s carefully-crafted backstory, he had enlisted in the Army and was training to be a field medic when he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which disqualified him from service and caused him to get sent home. After returning to the Cleveland area, he worked odd bartending jobs until his symptoms became so severe, he had to go on long-term disability.

The disability leave, the Marshals told Ian, was necessary to explain why Ian’s adult siblings would all be able to immediately start building a new job history for themselves upon arriving in Buffalo, while Ian would have an employment gap of up 18 months while he was incarcerated at Gowanda Correctional.

The Marshals would create the documents that would support this fake backstory, including records of being on disability and of Ian’s brief military service before being dismissed. Additionally, he’d be booked at Gowanda under a second alias, so “Ian Gallivan” wouldn’t have a record. Even so, Ian was uneasy about getting a late start compared to everyone else.

“What worries me is you guys will be able to start working right away while I’m still in prison,” Ian said morosely. “What if I can’t find anything when I get out? Nobody will want to hire someone with mental illness and a huge-ass gap in my job history. And if the feds still need me after I’m doing serving my jail time, assuming I don’t get out early, that gap will get even bigger.”

“You got this,” Lip said. “We’ll be fine. You won’t have a criminal record and you already have a documented medical reason for why you couldn’t work, so maybe you can go back to school and learn a trade or something. Kind of like what Debbie did, and she’s doing all right for herself now.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried about finding a job. The U.S. government actually hasn’t given a lot of support for programs for welders in decades, so there’s not much motivation for people to go to trade school to learn how to become one,” Debbie said. “Outside of the South Side, there are actually way more welding jobs available than there are people to fill them.”

Sighing, Ian figured this was just his mind working overtime, like it often did when he was under stress. He was tired of the parade of motels and hotels, to such an extent that he was looking forward to getting booked into Gowanda Correctional, and he felt guilty for putting his family through more shit on account of his past misdeeds.

It had also been over a month since he’d seen Mickey, and his heart ached. At least this time, he knew it would be temporary, and that there was a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. Again, it was the waiting that would kill him.

 

* * *

 

After living in the group home with Lip, the Army, the psych ward, military prison, Beckman and now all these temporary places while in witness protection, Ian supposed he should’ve been used to being harshly woken up by someone pounding on his door at ass o’clock in the morning. He was used to it, but it still never failed to scare the shit out of him each time it happened.

Since Ian could see through the room’s window it was still dark outside, he figured it was 3 or 4 a.m.

“Ian Gallivan!” one of the Marshals said. “You have 10 minutes to get ready and come with us!”

“They just want you?” Lip grumbled.

The ginger in question rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah. Fuck. They must be taking me separately, so I can get booked back into jail,” Ian moaned. “Sorry, guys, I guess this is it.”

Hair standing up higher than it should’ve been possible for gravity to allow, Lip pulled himself out of bed and helped Ian gather up his things. Ian decided to pack lightly, figuring his siblings would be grabbing the rest of it before the Marshals flew the rest of them off to Buffalo later.

Ian grabbed a spare shirt and pair of pants, some extra socks and boxers, and his phone and charger. Lip threw them in Ian’s bag while the ginger was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. Once he’d gotten ready, Ian stuck his head out of the door.

“Is it okay if I say goodbye to my brother and sister in the other room? My sister will be really broken up if she doesn’t get to see me before I go,” Ian said.

The Marshal nodded and walked to the next door down the hall to wake up Fiona and Liam. A second Marshal was about to wake up Frank in his room, but Ian decided against it and asked him to stop. Frank would just bitch about being woken up too early.

The siblings filed into the hall under the watchful eye of the Marshals. Fiona bore a striking resemblance to a zombie, even for the always-overworked Fiona, and she herded Liam out of the room ahead of her.

“I’m leaving. I’m going back to jail now. Take care of yourself,” Ian said, tears coming to his eyes. “Don’t come and visit me until after you’re set up with your shit in Buffalo. I want you guys to be comfortable, but I’ll fucking miss you so much. I missed this while I was locked up in Beckman, but at least I’ll see you again sooner than before since I’ve already served six months.”

“I love you, Ian,” Fiona said, pulling her little brother into a tight hug. “I would’ve never forgiven myself if I missed saying goodbye to you again, so I’m glad we got a do-over. It makes sense, since that’s what this whole move is for the rest of us – a second chance.”

Once they’d all said their goodbyes, the Marshals herded the siblings, minus Ian, back into the rooms. After the doors closed behind them, one of the men took out a black hood and Kevlar vest and handed both to Ian. “We need you to put these on for us, please.”

Ian took the items and put them on. They really did take this seriously, Ian thought. They were literally giving him a bulletproof vest to get him safely back into custody. He wondered privately if this was normal security protocol for transporting an inmate protected witness into a correctional facility, or if something new had happened to justify the increased security.

That became an afterthought as a Marshal took Ian by each arm and escorted him down the hall. He heard an elevator door open and close, then the slight drop in his stomach once the platform started moving.

After Ian felt the sudden change in air temperature that meant they were outside, he walked until he heard a car door open and felt strong hands nudging him through it. Ian got in. Someone buckled his seat belt for him. The vehicle’s ignition turned over, and they drove away from the hotel and into the great unknown.

 _This is spy movie shit for sure,_ Ian thought. _But it’ll all be worth it once I see Mickey again._

 

* * *

 

After the private plane the Marshals used to fly Ian out of D.C. landed in Buffalo, Ian had to put the hood and Kevlar vest back on before the Marshals could even escort him off the aircraft.

They led him to another waiting vehicle. He had no idea what the vehicle (probably an armored van) looked like or how long the drive was, but Ian knew from the documents they’d gone over at the WITSEC briefing center that Gowanda Correctional Facility was about an hour south of Buffalo.

It seemed like forever before the vehicle finally came to a stop. The Marshals helped Ian out, and they walked until he heard what sounded like a security door buzzing. “Watch your step,” one of the Marshals said, making sure Ian didn’t trip as he walked inside.

From there, Ian figured they were walking through hallways inside the correctional facility. It was surprisingly quiet, but it made sense given it would still be early morning by now and they probably were not leading him through the main entrance.

They stopped in front of another door. After walking through it, two of the Marshals let go of Ian’s shoulders and he heard one of them say to him, “You may remove the hood now.”

Ian pulled the hood off his head, eager to see where he was. He blinking his eyes rapidly as the bright, artificial light in the room accosted them. He was in a conference room with about a dozen chairs, but only three were occupied. Aside from the Marshals standing around the perimeter of the room, Ian recognized Jerome Peterson, the Assistant U.S. Attorney who’d spoke to him in the U Chicago trauma center after Mickey was stabbed and they’d both been patients there, as well as Kaye Foxx, the Cook County prosecutor. Ian didn’t recognize the third person, a man in a CO uniform.

The CO looked at Ian and stood up. “I’m Warden James Cassidy,” he said, extending his hand to Ian to shake. “I’m in charge of Gowanda Correctional. In the interest of full disclosure: I know you’re a protected federal witness, but I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done in your past, just that you’re about to be booked into my prison as Kyle Finnegan. I neither know nor care what your real name is, which is what everybody in this room should want, including myself.”

Ian was shocked by the warden’s nonchalant attitude about his status as a protected witness, but he reasoned this made sense. If anything untoward did happen to Ian, the warden could truthfully claim the feds told him nothing, wash his hands of the situation and any responsibility and go on his merry way, leaving the feds entirely responsible for Ian’s blood on their hands if anyone tried to kill him. Smart man to pass the buck, Ian thought. Sounds like a Gallagher.

“Also, Mr. Finnegan,” Cassidy said, “After you are done here, you will be booked for felony possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute and begin serving an 18-month sentence. You’ll be treated no differently than any one of the many other inmates in Gowanda who are serving similar sentences. I will leave you all alone to discuss this further, so good day to you.”

After Cassidy left, Peterson and Foxx opened their large briefcases and pulled out stacks of paper. “We’re here because we have a very important update we’d like to share with you on your case. Take a seat, since you’re going to want to be sitting down for this,” Foxx said.

Ian obeyed. Once seated, one of the Marshals offered him a glass of water, which he accepted. “You mean the cartel case? What’s going on with it?” Ian asked, taking a drink.

“A lot. You will recall we told you how Gerard Copeland, the CO who was caught on tape leaving the door to the PC unit at Beckman open, denied he did it on purpose? We knew he was lying, but we hit a brick wall because we couldn’t prove it. But two weeks ago, we had a gift fall right into our laps that will give us the proof to hopefully get warrants and subpoenas,” Foxx said.

Ian’s jaw dropped open. “You know he did it on purpose? Can you prove it?”

“We believe so, although we can’t guarantee anything because the case is still in its very earliest stages,” Peterson said. “But it’s a lead. Before now, we had nothing linking Copeland to the cartel at all. No money trail, no prior associations, and nothing to suggest his brother, Anthony, a CO at Southgate Correctional Facility for Women, had connections to inmates with Mexican cartel associations there, either. It baffled us…until Tony Copeland got fired from his job at Southgate two weeks ago for having an inappropriate sexual relationship with one of the inmates. Tony Copeland is now looking at rape charges against him since inmates cannot legally consent to sex with COs.”

“Who?” Ian asked. “Can’t you just tell me who she is and what’s going on?”

“I will. You recall, of course, that Pablo Cortez’s attempt on Mickey McGuire’s life wasn’t the first time someone tried to kill him?” Peterson asked. “As you know, however, back then he was known as Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich. The inmate with whom Tony was having the affair was none other than your half-sister, Samantha Slott, who is incarcerated at Southgate.”

“THAT FUCKING BITCH!” Ian bellowed. “She’s a fucking traitor and a murderer who tried to kill my fiancé not once, but fucking _TWICE_ now! I’ll testify against her! I’ll do anything to fucking help you put her away…please! If you need me to do fucking anything at all, just let me know!”

“We would appreciate any help you could provide us via testimony, Ian, but there's not much you can do,” Peterson said. “It’s early. This is a great lead, but we don’t even know yet who paid whom. The Copelands and your sister could have paid Cortez to settle their vendetta, or Cortez could’ve paid _them_ to let him into your unit and settle old cartel business. But we’re leaning toward the latter, since we doubt Gerard would have risked his job at Beckman unless he got a very fat paycheck from the cartel...then again, Tony got caught having sex with an inmate at work, so stupidity must run in the family. Unless we find anything else to link them, the alliance between the Copelands and Cortez was likely a marriage of convenience. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ And your family.”

“She’s not my fucking family,” Ian spit, venom dripping from his every word. “The man she tried to murder twice now _is_. Sammi isn’t even my sister. Our dads are really brothers. Her shithead father is really my uncle, because my mother fucked her own brother-in-law to have me. Sammi may be my cousin, but she sure as fuck is no family of ours after what she’s done.” He’d gladly testify against his hated _cousin_!

“Well…in that case, then, we’re in the process of interviewing your cousin,” Foxx said. “Since she is refusing to say anything against Tony Copeland, we think they were having the affair for some time and his financials will reveal a long trail of expensive gifts he’s tried to sneak into the prison as contraband. She doesn’t want to testify and she asked us not to prosecute him, but it’s not up to her and it’s only a matter of time before we find more that can put her away for ordering a hit on a federal witness. That’s very serious, and you might have guessed we don’t take it lightly.”

Ian snorted. He still couldn’t believe fucking _Sammi_  was behind this. He thought she was ancient history and the cartel was their only threat. It shook Ian to his core to realize he, Mickey and his siblings could have unknowingly been in grave danger in the South Side for all these years. Sammi was like a cancer that kept coming back, and now this. He was in shock. _Although it'll be really fucking great when we can testify against her and nail her ass to the wall!_

“Wait a minute,” Ian spoke up. “If fucking Sammi ordered this hit and the cartel paid off her fuckboy’s brother to let Cortez in, how do you know Mickey isn’t in danger now? He was booked as McGuire, not Milkovich, so Copeland must know his new name. Does that mean you’re going to have to move Mickey again?”

A hint of a smile spread from the corner of Foxx’s mouth. “Ahh. But if you recall, the COs at Beckman called Mickey ‘Inmate M’ and not by his last name like how they called you ‘Inmate Gallagher.’ He was booked as McGuire, but no one other than the warden at Beckman had any way of knowing his full name. Mickey was forbidden to tell either other inmates or COs his last name.”

“We’re in the process of interviewing all the COs at Beckman, asking questions that would reveal if they knew too much about the protected witnesses. None did, and some even volunteered to take polygraphs to prove it. Samantha and Tony called him Mickey Milkovich. Gerard called him ‘Inmate M,’ and is still denying he intentionally got involved with his brother’s situation. Cortez didn’t know Mickey’s name – just a cartel snitch he was hired to shank. We figure Copeland must’ve given Cortez a picture of Mickey so he knew which guy in the PC unit’s showers he had to sneak in and stab that day,” Peterson explained.

As he nodded and tried to process this information, something else occurred to Ian. “Just checking: where is Mickey? Will we be able to be cellmates after you book me here? Mickey only agreed to help you guys and roll on the cartel under the condition that he got to pick where he got locked up, and who his cellmate would be. Please fucking tell me that isn’t changing, because he’s going to go fucking apeshit if it does.”

Peterson sighed and rubbed his forehead, showing every sign of reluctance to give a response to Ian’s question. Ian’s heart dropped, dreading the answer.

”We figured out a workaround to keep everyone happy, but unfortunately, we can’t risk having you and Mickey sharing a cell here. Every other inmate in Gowanda would make life hell for Cassidy if we did,” Peterson said slowly.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Ian yelled. “So you care more about what a bunch of homophobic pricks think than about holding up your end of the bargain? Mickey almost got himself _killed_  for you, and this is what you turn around and end up doing to him?”

“ _Ian_!” Peterson barked. “This has nothing to do with homophobia and everything to do with your own personal security, not to mention keeping every inmate with two coins to rub together from trying to file discrimination lawsuits against prisons across the country! Let. Me. Explain. Please hear me out, We think we’ve found a way to fix it.”

Once Ian calmed down and his face returned to a more natural color, Peterson continued. He explained that since even before the _Obergefell_ decision made same-sex marriage throughout all 50 U.S. states, federal policies started shifting to reflect that gay inmates are entitled to the same equal privileges straight ones have.

“The key word is ‘equal’,” Peterson said. “If we swing the pendulum too far in the opposite direction, every straight inmate in this prison could cry foul because we can’t bring their wives and girlfriends in to be their cellmates. I surely need not mention you’d also be at extreme risk of homophobic violence if that happened, so it is for your own safety we ask you to be...discreet. We figured out how you can be together even if you aren’t actually cellmates.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Ian said, frowning.

Peterson explained while federal U.S. prisons prohibited conjugal visits, individual U.S. states had leeway to set their own rules. New York was one of the few states where conjugal visits were still allowed to be offered in medium-or-lower-security facilities, ones run by the state prison system as opposed to the U.S. federal government.

“Cassidy already knows you and Mickey are an engaged couple, so he’s agreed to provide you with one of the rooms he’d provide to straight inmates for that purpose, as well as anything else you need or want in said room.”

Eyes widening, Ian’s first thought was of asking them to provide Mickey and himself with a large box of sex toys. If they had this much leverage in the WITSEC program, the feds would probably gladly do it to keep their birds happy so they would keep singing for them in court.

“Wow,” Ian muttered in awe. “Thank you both so much. You ran this by Mickey already?” Ian asked.

To his shock, Foxx burst out into hysterical laughter. Peterson glared at her, but a small smile began to work its way across the Assistant U.S. Attorney’s face until he, too, was chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Ian asked, thoroughly confused.

“The reason why we came up with the idea in the first place was because Mickey...refused to cooperate,” Peterson said. “When we told him you and he wouldn’t be cellmates anymore, Mickey screamed until he was red in the face, threw a metal coffee mug at my head, and threatened to tell the media how we put him in witness protection and almost got him killed. I had no choice, since he refused to calm down until I said you’d be allowed conjugal visits.”

Ian burst out laughing. So did Foxx.

“Laugh it up, Kaye. He didn’t almost concuss you,” Peterson said, but he was still trying to force his mouth into a straight line. “Ian, you’ve got yourself a live one for sure.”

“Why else do you think I’m marrying him?” Ian said in between fits of laughter, thrilled at the possibility of being able to testify against Sammi and the Copelands and put her away for good. "Although I have one more question: if Mickey and I won’t be cellmates in here, who will we be locked up with?”

“You’ll see,” Peterson and Foxx said in unison.

“Let’s just say Mickey took care of that, too,” Peterson added.

 

* * *

 

Having already gone through the motions when he was booked into Beckman, Ian at least knew what to expect this time around. Once he’d finished talking to Peterson and Foxx, he was booked in as Kyle Finnegan. Ian had no idea how he’d get used to that and hoped Mickey would avoid slipping up. He wondered what new name they gave Mickey.

 _If we’re going to be given a private room where we can fuck, we might as well just call each other “asshole” and “bitch” in public and dodge that bullet,_ Ian thought to himself.

Two COs walked Ian down the corridor. It was much more open than what he was used to at Beckman, since he was simply an anonymous inmate and not the high-profile case Beckman knew him as. He hoped he’d be able to cope with the rigors of gen pop if Mickey wasn’t in the same cell with him.

Ian became afraid, realizing he’d have much less protection than he’d grown used to, although he figured most of these inmates were low-level offenders like himself - and many people he grew up with on the South Side - and not serial killers or hit men.

As the COs ushered Ian along, he turned the corner into a new cell block when he looked up and saw Mickey staring out at him from inside of one of the cells. Ian’s heart swelled, and it pained him that he had to restrain himself to avoid showing much sign of recognition.

Mickey gave a slight nod to Ian, presumably to avoid blowing his cover, but the way one side of Mickey’s mouth turned up ever so slightly was enough for Ian to know his fiancé missed him just as much.

Ian returned the nod, hoping his face was stoic enough to avoid giving himself away. Next to Mickey was a very large, dark-haired man lying on the top bunk, who didn’t see Ian. He couldn’t see Mickey’s cellmate’s face.

The CO walked Ian about five cells past Mickey’s before unlocking the door and ushering the redhead inside.

 _No one else was in this cell,_ Ian thought, worried, as the door closed behind him. _Who was his cellmate and why was everyone being so evasive and not telling him?_

Ian nervously untucked the sheets from the beds and then paced a bit in order to pass the time. He realized soon he also had to take a piss. Ian had just tucked himself back into his pants and zipped when the door opened and closed behind his cellmate.

Ian’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what, or rather who, he was seeing. “What the fuck?”

“What’s up, bitch? Never thought you’d end up in the can with us after all of those years growing up in Cleveland...but I really thought you’d find some real pretty little fairy to stick your dick in by now. There’s plenty of ass in here that you’d think is real nice if you weren’t banging my little brother. But I ain’t our old man, so you don’t gotta worry. I got no problem if Mick ain’t into pussy. Don’t see the appeal myself of fucking dudes in the ass, but I’ll deal if it makes him happy.”

Ian hadn’t seen him in several years, but he’d known that curly blond mop and shaggy, disheveled beard anywhere. Peterson wasn’t kidding: Mickey had done very well when it came to pulling strings to keep them safe. He also had a strong hunch regarding the identity of the large, dark-haired man sharing Mickey’s cell with him.

Ian’s cellmate was Colin Milkovich.


	16. Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like how Mickey is described in this chapter, I’ve opted to play the long game when it comes to leading up to smutty reunion sex. Sorry.
> 
> It’s all for a good reason, though, as much of this exposition in this chapter will be either foreshadowing or laying down the framework for later events in the story.
> 
> Also: the book Ian is reading in this chapter really exists. It is _[WITSEC: Inside the Federal Witness Protection Program](https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/44494/witsec-by-pete-earley-and-gerald-shur/9780553582437/) _by Pete Earley and Gerald Shur. It was my primary reference that I used and am continuing to use for this story, so I would be amiss if I did not mention it.

* * *

“I still can’t believe Joey hasn’t done anything else to get popped. Fucker must’ve gotten a brain transplant in the move,” Colin said. “Same with Iggy. But then again, with that chick he‘s been banging at work, it makes sense. She sounds way out of his league, though. Bet she’s got really fucking nice tits. Iggy likes that.”

“I don’t know, assface, but you’re preaching to the wrong fucking choir since Jamie ain’t out of the chow line,” Mickey shot back. “You realize who the fuck you’re talking to? We care about as much about tits as you do about rising college tuition costs. So spare us, shit for brains.”

Ian snickered at Mickey’s remark as he took his first bite of their lunch, a chicken sandwich with a cup of fruit and mashed potatoes as sides. He’d discovered, to his delight and disappointment, that Mandy and Iggy had visited last week, missing Ian by days. Ian greatly enjoyed hearing the update on their situation, and he especially couldn’t wait to see Mandy again.

“Speaking of tits,” Ian said, “Once we get out of here, I think I’m going to go with the black tank top over the Monica tattoo on my back, and putting a ‘Mom’ heart on the chest. Bet I can find an artist in Buffalo who will listen to what clients actually want. I want to keep the tribute to my mom, because I‘ll never see her grave again. Even if she was a fucking flaming mess.”

Ian hesitated once these words were out of his mouth, knowing the late matriarch of the Milkovich family was a painful subject for Mickey, and not knowing how his brothers felt. Thankfully, Colin said nothing at all, while Mickey just gave Ian a sympathetic look.

Ian, Mickey and Colin were sitting at a table at the end of the mess hall for breakfast. A few other inmates were nearby, but the others seemed to be giving them a wide berth. On Ian’s first day, Mickey warned one sap, whose eyes were lingering for too long on the ginger, where his balls would end up if he didn’t put his eyes back in his head. No one bothered them again.

“Yo, bitches - move down. Make room for our brother,” Colin said as he poked at his mashed potatoes. “His giant ass won’t fit in that tiny space you two made for him. He ain’t as little as Mick, and I mean that in more ways than one.”

The smaller man flipped his brother the bird and said nothing. Ian assumed it was because it was Colin, but knowing him, Mickey was just too hungry to care about brotherly ball-busting. Right on cue, the hulking dark-haired man walked over to them and silently sat down.

Much as Ian had suspected on his first day here, Jamie was Mickey’s cellmate. The eldest Milkovich had long since moved out of the family home by the time Ian and Mickey were more than fuck buddies, so Ian’s only memory of him was when he, Mickey and Joey barged into the Kash and Grab to threaten Ian over eight years ago.

While still in the South Side, Jamie had his own place with “business” associates, where Colin later moved until they got raided. After Mickey returned from Mexico, both were given the chance to enter the program, join their siblings in Buffalo and serve the remainder of their sentences here. For now, Jamie was basically a bodyguard for both himself and Mickey, since Ian knew relatively little about him.

While more than grateful for the presence of even one of Mickey’s brothers, Ian had to get used to living with Colin. The ginger had never paid much attention to the curly-haired blond before, since Ian regarded him as background decor when he was at the South Trumbull house to see Mandy or Mickey. Even after Ian was living there after Mickey came out, Colin was out on runs with Iggy, Joey and Jamie, and seldom home.

As Jamie dug into his food, the topic of conversation turned again to what Iggy, Joey and Mandy were doing on the outside. By this point, all three had been in Buffalo for about eight months, eking out lives. Mickey was beaming with pride as he, Jamie and Colin told Ian about their siblings, a rare moment given the kinds of tragedies they’d seen and the “every man for himself” nature of their family, compared to the closer-knit nature of Ian and his siblings.

The Marshals set up jobs for Joey and Iggy as mechanics at an auto body shop, while Mandy was working as a bartender at a strip club. This worried Ian, but Mickey insisted Mandy told them security was great there and on a good night, her tips put what Ian used to make at the Fairy Tail to shame. Still unconvinced, Mickey told Ian the club was owned and operated by women who gave a shit about their employees and had zero tolerance for any clients who crossed the line.

Iggy had started hooking up with one of his coworkers at the auto body shop, until they decided they wanted to see each other for more than just sex. That was six months ago. After Mickey arrived in Gowanda and Colin and Jamie told their younger brother about Iggy’s girlfriend, Mickey accused them of being full of shit until Mandy confirmed in person that the mystery woman did exist.

Mickey smirked. “Hey, Jamie? Ever think we’d be one big, happy fucking prison family after we almost busted Ian’s skull over Mandy all those years ago? Or that our siblings would stay straight and not get thrown right back in?”

Jamie snorted and just continued to eat.

“Careful. We gotta watch what we talk about in here,” Ian said.

“Yo, who cares if we talk about Ian? Just some bitch we curb stomped in Cleveland for fucking with our kid sister,” Mickey crowed. He lowered his voice. “Watch and learn. It’s all part of the game. I feed them only what I don’t mind them hearing, and it’s just enough so these dudes know they can’t fuck with us. You learn nothing about this the first time? That’s how all of us survived in places like this for so fucking long.”

“Fine,” Ian said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll watch the master at work.”

As flippant as Ian was being, he was starting to realize how true Mickey’s words were. Due to the function of the PC unit at Beckman - protective custody - they’d been segregated from the rest of the prison population, and the few in “Disneyland” with them likely had equal or greater motivation to not draw attention to themselves.

That was where Mickey, Colin and Jamie came in, Ian thought. On the outside, others saw Mickey as a loose cannon, a firecracker poised to go off in the most direct possible way in the faces of those who hurt people he loved. He didn’t do subtlety. But here, Ian got to see a different Mickey: calculating, decisive and more capable of long-term planning than Ian had given him credit for. He dropped just enough bread crumbs to leave a trail while keeping the rest of the loaf to eat later. He was a survivor, able to wear as many faces as he needed.

Then it hit Ian: this wasn’t new at all. How else would Mickey have survived jail the first time, and how else would he have been able to infiltrate a Mexican cartel as a white American, a foreigner, and have the men there trust him? Not a single part of this was new to Mickey.

 _I was a fool,_ Ian thought. _Mickey grew up with Terry Milkovich as a father. His entire life had been a game of strategy, of lying to himself while wearing masks so that he could fool the world into believing the same lie. He had been playing these long cons his entire life - only I was too blinded by my wants and needs to realize it was all to protect me. Pushing me away, enduring Terry, marrying Svetlana - and then when Mickey did give me what I’d wanted all along, my head was just too fucked up to appreciate it._

Mickey leaned over the table and snapped his fingers in front of Ian’s face.

“Fucker. I can tell you’re thinking too much again,” Mickey said. “I fucking told you. Don’t worry about what it is...you gotta start your work detail after this. I put in a good word so you can be in the laundry room folding sheets, clothes and shit with me. I even arranged to get you in at the same time I’m there.”

“Thanks,” Ian said, grateful that he’d be able to see Mickey for more than just meals, exercising in the prison yard and whenever they could sneak off. Thankfully, since they were in a lower-security prison, with more non-violent criminals and fewer COs than Beckman, they could walk around relatively freely outside the cells. He wondered if Mickey, given how many times he’d been in jail, had any bright ideas involving spots out of surveillance camera sight lines.

 

* * *

 

After they finished eating lunch, Mickey and Ian headed down the hall to the prison’s laundry room, while Jamie and Colin were getting ready to work out. As he walked behind him, Ian tried his hardest to avoid ogling Mickey’s body through the thankfully-not-yellow jumpsuit, thankful it wasn’t any more revealing than it was.

It was hard to be so close to Mickey, yet unable to touch and hold him. Ian had to keep reminding himself that, like Mickey’s games he played in the name of survival, this would reward them if they were patient. Aside from being horny, going without sex for over a month after getting it daily for six months, he missed the intimacy. He missed holding and cuddling Mickey, even though he knew that, barring any major unforeseen circumstances, they would never have to be apart again after this.

As they descended some stairs and passed COs in the hallway leading into the laundry room, Ian could feel his cock half-hard in his pants, aroused by Mickey’s proximity. He wished he could at least find someplace private to rub one out. When they were in the hotels, Ian’s siblings gave him the usual catcalls if he stayed in the bathroom too long (nothing new after a lifetime in Chicago), but they didn’t actually give a shit.

“What the fuck do you do if you have to jerk off? I’m not fucking doing it in front of your brother, and I doubt you really want to spank it in front of Jamie, either,” he hissed in Mickey’s ear.

“Won’t fucking have to. Already talked to Cassidy,” Mickey said out of the corner of his mouth, cognizant of the fact that they weren’t alone. “After dinner.”

Ian felt a rush of emotion as he tried his hardest to keep from showing any other emotion. Mickey had come through for them again, and getting through this day would be sheer torture.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Ian grabbed a laundry basket and started sorting through the pile of dirty clothes and sheets. He was to wash, sort and dry the clothes and sheets, sort jumpsuits by size, and organize them alongside a dozen other inmates. Nobody else was doing anything besides the task at hand, so Ian kept his mouth shut, following Mickey’s lead as they‘d done in his first weeks at Beckman.

 _This wasn’t awful,_ Ian thought at first, but then he remembered what Greg, the inmate they’d befriended at Beckman, said about the cum rags. Granted, he’d touched many of Lip and Carl’s semen-stained sheets and boxers over the years (which were terrible enough) and fooled around with dudes at the Fairy Tail whose hygiene wasn’t quite up to snuff, but that wasn’t on the level of hundreds of inmates’ jizz, sweat, blood, and possibly even piss and shit.

Ian made a face and tried to grab the most likely culprits by just the corners if possible, then resigned to bunching and tossing them in the machines as quickly as possible after another inmate looked at him strangely. Mickey shot Ian a glancing look as if to say, “Do it for me, Ian.”

 

* * *

 

The thought of being able to give Mickey a nice, passionate fuck after they’d eaten was enough to get Ian through the rest of their afternoon shift.

After they were done, Ian and Mickey had about an hour of free time before dinner. Mickey decided to go work out with his brothers, while Ian retreated to his cell to keep reading a [book](https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/44494/witsec-by-pete-earley-and-gerald-shur/9780553582437/) Mickey gave him upon his arrival in Buffalo. He’d had gotten it from Peterson while Mickey was recovering from his stab wound and surgery in the hospital.

It was an extensive history of the WITSEC program, co-authored by the U.S. Justice Department official who created it as their secret weapon against the worst Mafia crime bosses. Up until its formation, most of these mob men had gone unpunished because no underlings dared break the code of silence, or omertà, for fear of being brutally murdered and their families wiped off the earth with them. Frustrated by their inability to get charges to stick, they had to give witnesses a very powerful incentive to spill the beans.

Mickey, not exactly a bookworm, took it with him to Buffalo and brought it into his cell with his personal effects in case Ian wanted to read it. Mickey would then, no doubt, reap the book’s benefits by proxy as Ian gave him play-by-plays of some of its more notable passages.

As he flipped through the pages of the black hardcover text, with a shadowy silhouette of a man in a suit and hat on the cover, Ian realized how much trial and error went into the program. It was a balancing act between doing what had to be done to convict mob bosses in the name of justice and safety, and the rights of a public that was outraged to learn that the U.S. government was placing pardoned mob associates - murderers - into communities of innocent people who were unaware of their neighbors’ pasts. _Was this fair?_ Ian thought.

That tallied with what Ian had seen in the present day. Joey and Iggy, rap sheets and all, were plopped into Buffalo, a new, unsuspecting city of neighbors with no idea of their histories. Ian could trust them, but what if neighbors with kids found out a family of criminals moved in next door? Mickey got locked up for attempted murder, and the only reason Mandy didn’t go away for the same thing was because people had kept their mouths shut about Karen. Angry parents would not be so kind as to consider mitigating circumstances in the court of public opinion.

Something else dawned on Ian that sent a chill down his spine. The book was published in 2002. Ian figured the earliest history from the 1960s and ‘70s didn’t change over time, so it was still accurate. However...in 17 years since the book’s publication, had the program still not allowed a single witness who obeyed all its rules to die? Mickey had done nothing wrong, yet he almost got stabbed to death. Could there have been more Mickeys in 17 years since?

“Hey, assface. Let’s eat. We’re hungry,” Mickey said, his interjection pulling Ian out of the book. He lowered his voice. “Not just for food, either. I’ll leave early, make up some excuse. Afterward, _you_ leave the mess hall with Colin and Jamie, then tell one of the COs Cassidy asked to see you. Don’t say more than that.”

The four walked through the hallways to the mess hall, filing in line to receive their portions of lasagna with overcooked garlic bread. As they sat down, another group of four inmates walked over to the table where they were sitting.

“These seats taken?” One of them asked just as Ian put a forkful of lasagna into his mouth. Ian quietly shook his head while Mickey said, “Go for it.”

As they began eating, the man who’d spoken introduced himself as Steve, while the three others with him were Damien, Paul and Mark. Ian introduced himself as Kyle, which he knew Mickey would never get used to. The brothers gave the group all of their real first names.

“Is he your new cellie? Just wondering,” Paul asked Mickey, gesturing to Ian. “Figured you all didn’t just meet, since you seem pretty tight already. You must know each other from someplace.”

 _Oh, if only he fucking knew,_ Ian thought.

“Someplace? Yeah, our asshole father’s wrinkly sack.” Mickey cracked a smirk as he gestured to Colin and Jamie. “These Tweedledum and Tweedledee-looking fuckers are my brothers. The ginger was a neighbor of ours. We knew each other since we were kids on the same block in Akron. That’s in Ohio.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Colin retorted.

“Dude, you don’t even know who the fuck Tweedledum and Tweedledee are,” Jamie shot back. “Shut the fuck up.”

To Ian’s amusement and relief, Steve chuckled and cracked a smile, seemingly amused by their antics.

“Hey, it’s good that you at least have your brothers here to look out for you. A lot of these guys here have nobody. Kind of sad, really,” Steve said. “They throw us in the can and we get forgotten. All I did was piss off my dealer and he blew me in after he got caught. Sold me out. My parents died when I was little.”

“Yeah. We did all right,” Mickey said. “Dad was a piece of shit, but we still ended up getting caught up in all of his dealings. It’s family business, I guess. Don’t want to talk about it more than that.”

Damien took a sip of his glass of water. “Fair enough. So you came to Buffalo just before you got pinched? How‘d you end up here?” he asked.

“Needed a change. Siblings moved and we followed them,” Mickey said. “Dad stayed home. We got a sister and two brothers. Live in a house on the West Side now, over on Elmwood Avenue.”

Steve frowned. “Wait a second. You said you grew up dirt-poor, but you can afford a place in the Elmwood Village? The fuck? Prices are sky-high in that neighborhood, because gentrification’s a bitch. What do they do for work?”

 _Fuck!_ Ian hoped the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t visible on his face. He should’ve read those newspaper clippings at the federal briefing center more carefully...as it was, he didn’t even know anything about the neighborhood where his own siblings were living. Did they have a really expensive house, too, that would be hard to explain?

Ian could almost see the gears turning in Mickey’s head as he scrambled to fix this, although Mickey’s expression was hopefully unreadable to anyone else.

Mickey snorted. “Of course it’s expensive as shit. Didn’t say we owned it, did I? We found an ad on Craigslist that needed tenants, and now we rent it out from some rich dude who lives in Orchard Park. But as far as he knows, just those three live there. We may have ‘forgotten’ to tell him how many of us there are since we ain’t living there yet, so once we get out we’ll split rent six ways until we find something else.”

“Ah...gotcha. Yeah, nobody can afford to do more than rent here, so lots of people do that,” Steve said. “Elmwood is really nice, though. Lots of young people and a growing community, if you don’t mind all the hipster stuff popping up.”

 _Just like the South Side,_ Ian thought as he silently thanked Mickey for saving their skins again. _Mickey will love that, just like he loved that coffee shop storefront he, his brothers and their friends shot up and Lip told me about months after the fact._

Ian wondered if Mickey pulled that out of his ass on the fly, or if the feds coached him. In either case, Ian had to thank him later, in the best way he knew how.

Ian and the three brothers kept up their small talk. Ian tried his best to stay interested and focused, but his mind was spinning off into a million different directions, most of which were inside the body of the handsome man sitting in front of him. Thankfully, Mickey seemed to be as eager as Ian to leave, but Ian could tell he was waiting for the right moment to fuck off.

The black-haired man didn’t disappoint. He ate his last bite of lasagna and stood up, shoving in his chair and letting it scrape loudly against the floor. The newcomers winced.

“Sorry about that. This chit-chat has been nice, but I gotta go,” Mickey said. “Slept funny on my shoulder and it’s hurting me again. Hoping the infirmary will give me shit for it, but I ain’t holding my breath they’ll give me more than Advil. Some asshole grabbed me and dislocated it a year ago in a fight over a run gone real bad. Hurt like a fucking bitch, but that’s a story for another day. Later.”

After Mickey got up and left, Ian didn’t want to stick around and risk putting his foot in his mouth, but he also didn’t want to make it look like he was following Mickey and blow their cover. He settled for changing the topic of conversation to something benign that wouldn’t be tied in to their fake background, and Steve and the others took the bait.

Once they had finished eating, Colin and Jamie walked Ian as far as the hallway outside the mess hall until they parted ways to return to their cells. Ian executed the plan by approaching a group of COs who were chatting amongst themselves in the hallway.

“Excuse me,” Ian said, trying his best to lay it on thick without being too obvious. “I was told Warden Cassidy wanted to see me. He asked me to have someone bring me to him after dinner, and said it’s really important.”

“Come with us,” one of the COs, a man whose badge identified him as M. Blake, said. “What’s your name?”

“Kyle Finnegan,” Ian said.

Blake and another CO, Jacobs, escorted Ian through another series of hallways on the far end of the prison. Blake stopped at a security checkpoint to swipe in before escorting Ian through the door his card had just opened.

The three stopped at another locked door, this one with an intercom. Blake knocked once and pressed the button to talk. “Warden Cassidy! Jacobs and I have a Kyle Finnegan here to see you.”

“Come in!” Cassidy said.

The three entered the room. Ian walked across the large office, then sat at the chair in front of the warden’s desk.

“Hello, Mr. Finnegan,” Cassidy said. “I’m sorry if any of this alarmed you, and this isn’t usually how we handle these types of visits, but given some...unusual circumstances concerning your case, we felt some extra security measures had to be taken.”

The COs standing in the doorway said nothing. Ian wondered how much they knew, but Cassidy seemed to have a lid on it. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“As we’ve already discussed, your fiancée is here to see you, and we had security bring her into the room through the back door,” Cassidy said. “She is waiting for you in 3A, and you’ll find everything else you need, including a shower room and all necessary toiletries.”

“Thank you so much,” Ian said, wanting to laugh. He had a hunch that the person he’d find in 3A was far from a “her,” but this was in the name of keeping up appearances for the COs. “Is there anything else I need?”

“No,” Cassidy said. “You’ll be escorted to your room after you leave this office. Once you are ready to go back to your cell, there will be a walkie-talkie to page someone to come get you. We’ll have security lead your fiancée out.”

“Thank you again,” Ian said.

Cassidy said nothing else. However, as Ian turned to leave, the last thing he saw was one side of the supervisor’s mouth beginning to turn up in an ever-so-slight grin, one that would look far more appropriate on Mickey’s face than on a stern prison warden.

_Mickey took good care of us, indeed._


	17. Conjugal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record: all of the sex toys mentioned by name in this chapter are real. I am not affiliated with the companies that produce and distribute said toys, although they do make excellent products and I wish them no disrespect.
> 
> I have edited the text to add links to the real-life toys for visuals. The hyperlinks in the names of such toys lead to the manufacturer's site where applicable.

Ian wasn’t sure how to feel as he walked down the hallways of Gowanda Correctional Facility with the two COs, Blake and Jacobs. While he trusted Mickey with all his heart and knew he would never intentionally lead them astray, Ian’s mind still raced through all of the potential things that could go wrong.

What if someone intercepted them? If the COs didn’t know Ian’s fiancée was a fiancé, how long would that stat hidden? The logistics of the entire cloak-and-dagger attempt to keep them safe, while being able to engage in the conjugal visits Mickey had secured for the two of them, didn’t make sense.

Even with Colin and Jamie as cellmates, and with both of them being okay with Ian and Mickey being an item, how would they account for the fact that Ian’s female fiancée was nowhere to be found if anyone saw them? Wouldn’t someone notice that Ian and Mickey always seemed to disappear after dinner, and leave their work detail at the same time? They were still at a great deal of risk, as the near-tragedy in the showers at Beckman revealed.

The COs led Ian back through the secure area into which they’d swiped, and back toward the common areas of the prison. However, they took another turn and went down a different hall that ended with a closed door with a glass window. As they approached it, Ian could see that the hallway behind it led to what looked like a series of rooms, much like the hotels and motels he’d been with his family in for weeks.

As Blake unlocked the door, Ian noticed this one used a simple silver key, rather than the sophisticated swipe card system that the doorway into the COs’ corridors and Cassidy’s office used. They kept walking until they reached 3A, with a small plaque next to the door.

“Here’s your room,” Jacobs said. “Your fiancée is inside already, and you will find...everything you’ll need.” He added that with a slight smirk, considering the implication Ian would be getting laid. “When you’re...done, use the walkie-talkie inside and we’ll come get you. Someone else will escort her out.”

“Okay,” Ian said, realizing he probably sounded like a jackass. He was still confused, but he didn’t know how much these COs knew or if he could trust them. He didn’t even know if he could trust Cassidy, although given the fact Mickey had brokered a deal with the feds, Cassidy was likely being paid big bucks or was offered some perk to keep two federal witnesses safe. If nothing else, at least money talked.

It didn’t occur to Ian to knock on the door, and risk drawing more unwanted attention if Mickey was inside, so Blake pulled out a set of keys and used a small, engraved one to unlock the door. Ian stepped inside.

To Ian’s shock, there was no one inside. It resembled a hotel room with one large, queen-sized bed, and two closed doors on either side. Ian assumed one was the bathroom. He would’ve guessed the other was a closet, were it not for the comment Cassidy made about sneaking people in through the room’s “back door”.

“Hello?” Ian said, reluctantly. Was Mickey in the bathroom, or was there a woman inside Cassidy had arranged to serve as a beard, given the comments about a fiancée?

On cue, the bathroom door swung open. A familiar face appeared, and Ian’s jaw dropped open. The blond may have been gone, but no matter what color she dyed her hair, Ian would know the young brunette woman who walked into the room anywhere.

“Hey, assface. Didn’t think I would miss seeing you on your first week? Never would’ve guessed I’d end up being your fucking beard again, after all these years of being out. But Gay Jesus? That shit didn’t suit you...never thought you’d end up fucked for life, too.”

Ian embraced Mandy Milkovich in a tight hug, one that spoke so many emotions from seeing his best friend after so much time and space apart. They’d tried to keep in touch, with Ian texting her occasionally, although it was hard since she was living relatively off the grid. It was probably for the best, given she hadn’t accounted for Kenyatta’s whereabouts and he doubted Mandy’s ex was glad to be shot of her.

“Mandy. I can’t believe it. It’s really you,” Ian said. “Fuck. I had no idea when I’d see you again...how have you been? How has the new job been? And are you still Mandy?”

Mandy laughed. “You always did have a way with words. Yeah, I’m still Mandy. Amanda Natalia McGuire, to be exact. I changed my middle name to my mom’s name. Wanted something to remember her by. Not sure why they didn’t name me after her in the first place, but when the fuck was my dad every the sentimental type? Fuck, I miss her still.”

A tear started to run down Ian’s cheek. Neither Mandy nor Mickey spoke about their mother. While he knew she had been a kindly but sad woman, forced into motherhood as a teen when she became pregnant with Jamie, he knew little else. Had she met some horrible end at Terry’s hands? Ian decided he would rather not know.

“I’m so sorry about all that’s happened to you,” Ian said. “I’m sorry about what my brother did to you. I’m so fucking sorry about that prick you ended up with before you got away from him. Because you always deserved better than the South Side and to be fucked for life, as you and Mickey always said.”

“Hey,” Mandy said. “We made it through, didn’t we? We’re tough. We may not be Milkoviches in name anymore, but you can’t take that from us. Then again, I wouldn’t care if someone took my name. Not too attached, given who it came from in the first place.”

Ian laughed. “So, you came in to see your brothers last week? I’m glad you’ve been able to get plenty of time off. I’m also glad you aren’t working for the escort service anymore. Are you sure this new club is legit?”

Mandy sighed. “You always were good to me. You’re so caring and kind. Granted, I didn’t know your mystery lover was my brother until three years after you’d started fucking, but I didn’t know what you saw in him. In _us._ All the guys I hooked up with wanted sex and so did I, so it was just something I did. That’s why I didn’t know what to make of you not wanting to fuck me at your house that first time I was there.”

“At least now you know it wasn’t you,” Ian said. “I’m just glad you found a decent workplace where people are treating you how you deserve to be treated. I mean that.”

Mandy looked as if she wasn’t sure how to take the compliment. Ian reflected, sadly, that she wasn’t used to them, so naturally that would be her response.

“Yeah. The owners are two lesbians - not a couple, they’ll be sure to point out right away - who don’t mind giving drunk, gross straight guys the old boot if they get too handsy,” Mandy said. “Also, I had a great idea: get Mickey a job after he’s out of here. Maybe we’ll need another security guard by then. He might be able to beat guys up legally for once, as long as he doesn’t take it too far. I’m sure Lisa and Sharon would do me a favor.”

They both laughed a deep, hearty laugh that could only be shared by people who’d seen way more than anyone their age deserved. Mandy had always gotten Ian and given him the best advice on guys, even before she knew about her brother being in a _thing_ with him. Life had a way of reuniting Ian with the Milkoviches. He had to give the powers that be some credit.

“How’s the neighborhood? Mickey said the area where you’re living is pretty pricey. Getting a taste of the good life? But then again, from the clothes and the car you had the last time I saw you, you weren’t doing too bad, aside from me almost having to help you ditch a body until I told you it’d be best to just call the cops to deal with it.”

“Fuck you,” Mandy shot back. “It’s not too bad. We’re renting the upper apartment in a house and there are tenants downstairs. There’s a hipster coffee house on our block and an art gallery, which is annoying, but there’s a craft brewery just down the street, too. And the feds gave me a new car to replace the one I had. Didn’t want any of Mickey’s old cartel buddies to be able to trace the VIN back to me.”

“Speaking of which, where is Mickey? The feds promised us conjugal visits to keep him happy and talking,” Ian said. “Not that I don’t want to catch up with you and find out how things are going to be in Buffalo once I get out. I’d love to hear more, but I’m really fucking horny and my mind keeps going to that.”

As if on cue, the back door opened. Ian’s face broke into a wide grin.

“You’re damn right he’s horny as fuck. So am I, so you’d better beat it so the two of us don’t have to,” Mickey chirped at Mandy as he entered the room. “Cassidy just let me in here and is gonna set Mandy up in another room with WiFi and a TV. It’s real great to see the two of you in the same room again, but let’s chitchat after we fuck?”

Mandy shoved him. “Asshole! I haven’t seen ‘ _Kyle’_  in person in what, three years? You live with him now and see him all the time. Give us time before you boot me out! Fuck!”

“You guys,” Ian chimed in. “I want to see you both. But Mandy, if you could maybe come back this weekend, that’d be great? I’d like alone time with Mick. Please?” He gave Mandy an attempt at an innocent face, which fooled no one.

“Oh, please. I was fucking with you both,” Mandy said, with no trace of malice. “I know you guys want to get on each other, so I’ll leave. By the way, when you’re ready to go, call Cassidy and he’ll grab me. He’ll walk me and you out so people are sure to see us leave together. Mickey gets to hide in the bathroom while we do that, since there’s no closet in here. Guess they didn’t want to make him _too_  comfortable.”

“Fuck you!” Mickey shot back.

She walked over to the end table and grabbed a small, yellow device with a short antenna off an end table. Mandy showed it to Ian and Mickey.

“Walkie-talkie. All the rooms have one of them,” Mandy said. “Oh, and when Cassidy gets back, he’ll drop you off two keys: one for this hallway and one for this room, so you guys can come in here whenever. Don’t get me wrong: it’s really fucking nice to see you guys, but this hour-plus drive is gonna be a bitch in the winter and I don’t wanna leave you with blue balls if I can’t show. Just don’t be seen going in together.”

Ian snorted. After sneaking around with Mickey for nearly three years before his fiancé came out, he didn’t need any advice on how to stay discreet. He let Mandy have her caring sister moment, though, and soon smiled.

She turned to leave through the back door. “Oh - and don’t forget to check out the lock box in the corner on the floor over there.” She gestured to what looked like a fireproof travel safe. “It’s not just a safe. Cassidy called in a favor from the feds to get you that. Key is on top. Take the third key, too, when you go. Put it on the ring with the other two.”

“What’s inside?” Ian asked, confused.

“You’ll see,” Mandy answered simply. She turned to leave. As she was stepping through the door, Ian saw the figure of the prison warden behind her.

“Warden Cassidy!” Ian called. “How do you know we aren’t going to be watched as we leave? I don’t know if I like this so much...I’m fucking scared. And what’s this about the keys?”

The warden shushed Ian, whose voice had increased exponentially in volume in his excitement.

“I’ve turned off the surveillance cameras in that wing since the screens are in my office, anyway,” Cassidy said. “We don’t need a hallway of conjugal visits being monitored - since visitors get searched on their way in and out. And all anybody can steal out of the rooms in this locked wing are lube and condoms, which we don’t give a shit about. But don’t get too comfortable. You’re a dumbass if you think I don’t have an eagle eye on what happens everywhere else.”

With that, he left.

Ian felt a rush of excitement. He and Mickey were finally, at long last, alone and it felt so overwhelming to him. His mind was flooded with thoughts of what he wanted to do to, and with, this beautiful man in front of him, whom he’d almost lost far too many times for his comfort. Evidently, Mickey felt something very similar.

“C’mere,” Mickey said, voice thick with arousal and almost a harsh purr. “We finally got time to ourselves, so you better not just fucking stare at me. I’ve waited this long and I’m horny as a motherfucker. C’mere and kiss me.”

Ian smirked, closed the distance between them and grabbed Mickey around the waist. He leaned his head down to kiss his fiancé, passion clearly evident in the desperation of Ian’s attempt to remove Mickey’s pesky jumpsuit. Ian sucked on Mickey’s tongue, coaxing a soft moan out of the shorter man.

Likewise, Mickey started tearing at Ian’s clothes. This routine had long since become familiar, and Ian had kicked himself for the too many times, already, that he thought he could get by without this. Nothing else came close to sex with Mickey, and now they had, presumably, as much time as they needed with the blessing of the prison warden. Maybe the hardships of being a protected witness might be worth it?

Mickey broke away. “I showered and cleaned up before you got in here, but I wouldn’t be opposed to fucking in there anyway. Maybe next round?”

“I have no objections to that,” Ian said. “Do we want to check and see what’s in the safe? I’m guessing they put condoms and lube either inside, or in the dresser drawer over there?”

In response, Mickey walked over to the dresser and opened the two drawers. Inside the second drawer were several varieties of lube and condoms. Ian silently was glad he and Mickey no longer used condoms, since none of the ones there were magnums and wouldn’t fit him.

“Guess they didn’t know we were coming,” Ian chuckled, examining a few of the standard-sized condoms.

With his signature raised eyebrow, Mickey said, “Oh, they knew we were coming - in more ways than one. I just didn’t ask for any more condoms. I did ask for what’s inside that big black chest over there, though.”

“Oh, really? Do tell me,” Ian said coyly.

Without another word, Mickey took the small key off the dresser and walked over to the case on the floor. He picked it up and set it onto the dresser. After Mickey stuck the key in the lock and the case opened, Ian stared dumbly. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Mickey had beguiled the feds into getting them a chest of sex toys. There were silicone plugs, two strings of anal beads, a prostate massager, and a few other things Ian couldn’t see underneath what was on top. All the toys were still sealed inside the original packaging.

“What the fuck? How?!” Ian said.

“You were the one who was nose and ass in that book, not me,” Mickey snorted. “You know damn well how the program works. You should know the feds will do fucking anything to keep us happy for them. Ian, they almost got me fucking _killed_  on their watch.”

 _Mickey had a point,_ Ian realized. _If we asked them to do so, they should walk into that bitch’s cell and shoot her in the head for giving her fuckboy’s brother access to us at Beckman. They owe us damn near anything, and a few hundred dollars in sex toys is worth it to them if it means putting Cortez away._

“I wanted to see how fucking far I could go. Sex toys weren’t too much for them, I guess.” Mickey shrugged. “I can’t exactly complain since the stuff I picked out is things I always wanted.”

Ian burst out laughing. Mickey was right. Whether the security breach at Beckman was their fault or not, the feds owed them a hell of a favor. This worked. He had to hand it to Mickey: as much of a sarcastic smartass he was, he had a way with people when he could get something he wanted from them.

The redhead leaned over to start picking through the items in the box.

“What do you want to start with? These beads look nice. They aren’t as big as the monstrous things you had, though. The ‘rosary for giants?’” Ian started picking at the hard plastic packaging that secured the anal beads in place.

Mickey picked up a plug. “Hmm, lookie what we have here. This looks like fun,” he said. “When Peterson agreed to do this, he gave me an iPad to pick out shit I wanted for us. I saw this and had to, because it looked really fun.”

Ian examined the toy. It was in a clear plastic box with white lettering and red trim on the bottom. The packaging identified it as the ["Severin"](https://www.tantusinc.com/products/severin-medium) and it looked like a curvy Mrs. Butterworth, a cartoon rendering of a Christmas tree crossed with a cloud, or a snowman with a thick bottom and a small head.

“Hmm, it does look like fun,” Ian said. “I’d love to suck you off while you have this inside you, getting ready to take my cock. This plug is thick, too, but you can take it like a good boy for me.”

“Mmm,” Mickey said. “You realize if you said that to me any other time, I’d kick your ass for it, right?”

“No, I’d rather fuck yours instead,” Ian retorted.

They kept digging through the packages, finding some more sets of anal beads and dildos of varying sizes. Ian picked up a large bluish package and wondered why they would need a Fleshlight. As if it weren’t obvious already, Mickey pointed out he could use it to stimulate his own cock as Ian fucked him.

There was also some packets of flavored lube, specifically strawberry, and the prostate massager Ian had seen before. He examined the package of the latter, and noticed the product inside was called the ["Loki"](https://www.lelo.com/loki-wave). He guffawed.

“Look, this is called the Loki. Like in the _Avengers_ movies,” Ian chortled. “I don’t know how they name these things, but I guess the shape of it does kinda look like those horns he wears. How many bad Asgard puns can we make?”

“Fuck if I know, but these toys are actually fucking expensive,” Mickey said. “That one sells for like $150 a pop online. It’s rechargeable, so you don’t have to fuck with batteries. Don’t think I could’ve gotten that from the shop I lifted the ‘rosary for giants” from. I wanted to get us some nice stuff, and since they’ll let us take these when we leave - it’s not like they can reuse sex toys - I wanted nice things. For us.”

Ian was really starting to like this more sentimental version of Mickey he’d started to get ever since he’d come out, and Ian was sure to tell him so.

“Fuck you,” the shorter man said. “Are you gonna sit there and go all googly-eyed and make jokes about fucking Marvel movies, or are we gonna use this stuff like we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Fiiiiiine,” Ian whined. “Oh, and we’ve got toy cleaner inside here, too. It’s just a spritz bottle of antibacterial shit we can use to clean up after.”

Mickey grinned. “That’s not the only cleanup gadget they gave. There’s an enema kit that hooks up to the shower. It’s set up in there and that’s another thing they’ll let us take with us. We can use the toy cleaner on that.”

Jesus, Ian thought. For all of the shit we went through up to this point, there really are perks of being a protected federal witness after all.

“Okay, let’s take the black snowman-looking plug and start working you to take it all while I start sucking you off and taking care of you, like you deserve,” Ian said. “It’s kinda big, isn’t it?”

“It’s the medium. They came in three sizes, but not sure if I wanted the large,” Mickey said. “That one was huge. Even thicker than you. It looked like a pop can, for fuck’s sake.”

“Awww, you could’ve taken it. You’re such a good bottom for me.” Ian started planting kisses on Mickey’s neck, taking care to avoid leaving marks that would be hard to explain. He started working his way down, sucking and kissing at a nipple. Mickey hissed as Ian lavished his attention on the little nub.

“As much as I’m enjoying this with us standing up, I think we ought to take this to the bed, especially since it’s right over there next to us,” Ian mused.

He guided Mickey to the bed and they flopped roughly on it, the bedsprings groaning in protest under the men’s combined weight. They kept making out, Ian’s body heavy but comforting as he kept his weight balanced firmly on top of Mickey’s shorter frame.

Both men moaned, their hard cocks running together as their bodies craved more than this. It had been far too long, and now that they could do it in a much larger bed - and in the privacy of what was basically a hotel room - this was an embarrassment of riches.

“Let’s see what these toys you picked out for us are like,” Ian said. He picked up the snowman doppelgänger and examined it. At its widest point, it was roughly as thick as his cock, so Ian was going to do his best to work up to it and not jam it in. Otherwise, this would be a very short foreplay session rather than what they both wanted.

“The lube is still over there,” Mickey said, gesturing at the dresser. “And grab the strawberry shit out of the safe with the toys, too. Want you to suck my cock and lick it off of me. Could put it on my chest and my nipples, too.”

“Damn. That sounds fucking hot,” Ian said, voice thick with lust. He got up and grabbed a bottle of water-based anal lube from the dresser drawer, as well as a packet of the strawberry-flavored liquid from inside the toy chest. Returning to the bed, he squirted a little on Mickey’s chest, just below above his left nipple, and licked it off. It didn’t taste bad - vaguely like a Jolly Rancher candy.

“Mmm,” Ian said. “This tastes really good. Not that you don’t, but this just makes you taste even better. This was a fucking awesome choice on your part.” Mickey grinned, then moaned as Ian squirted more lube, this time onto his nipple, just below Ian’s name tattooed on his chest, and sucked it off.

“So fucking good, Ian,” Mickey moaned. “Fuck. I love seeing you like this, worked up and hot. Keep doing that.”

Ian had other ideas. After licking the last of the lube off of Mickey’s chest, he moved downward. He took the tube and applied a generous portion of it to Mickey’s leaking cock head, the tip pink with a bead of pre-cum about to drop down the hard shaft. The flavors mixing together, Ian engulfed Mickey’s entire cock into his warm mouth and throat, tasting the tangy liquid coating the head and shaft as he sucked.

“Oh, fuck!” Mickey gasped, biting his knuckles on his right hand out of instinct. He wasn’t sure if anyone was outside or how paper-thin these walls were or weren’t - especially since Mandy was still here someplace, possibly even next door to them at this very moment.

Remembering what he’d told Mickey, Ian grabbed the plug and coated it, and his fingers, with the plain lube. He teased Mickey’s opening with one finger before working it in, then a second one. The brunet’s breath hitched from the intrusion, curses escaping his mouth as he panted. Ian squeezed in a third finger and started to curl them into the spot he knew would drive Mickey nuts. His response did not disappoint.

“Ian...now. Do something else. Fuck,” he said, breathless, his face flushed.

Ian pulled his fingers from Mickey’s body, picked up the toy and started to slather it with lube. Once it was coated to their mutual satisfaction, Ian began to insert the tip inside Mickey. The smaller man keened, body aching with pleasure from the little bit of stretch that the soft plastic provided, yet it was painful since it wasn’t what he really wanted.

“Ian...” Mickey moaned softly. “More. Give me more.”

Turned on beyond all belief at the sight of his hard-ass thug begging him for more, Ian drizzled more lube onto the toy before using his fingertips to push it further inside his fiancé. Ian watched the second bulge of the plug stretch the hole before it went in all the way, rim closing around the narrow part before the last, largest bump. Mickey’s cock, already an angry red and engorged, twitched and drooled out more pre-cum.

“I’m going to put the widest part in now,” Ian said. “Want me to stretch you a little more with my fingers first?”

“Fuck, Gallagher, I ain’t some fucking porcelain Barbie doll! Just give me what I want before I pull my head out of this pillow and knock your ass for teasing me like this,” Mickey whined.

“Barbie dolls aren’t porcelain, Mickey.”

“Like I really give a fuck! Just put the last of the fucking plug in me, then take it out and give me your fucking cock!”

Grinning, although Mickey wasn’t in a position to be able to see it, Ian gently but firmly forced the widest and final bulge of the plug into Mickey’s twitching hole. Mickey whined loudly, making a sound that was very unlike him as his ring of muscles stretched around the plug before closing and clenching around the stem at the base of the toy.

“It’s in,” Ian breathed, in awe of how beautiful his fiancé looked, eyes blown out and panting, face sweaty. “You look so full. I want to suck your cock and make you feel even better.”

“Don’t,” Mickey said. “I’m already close - been way too fucking long. Don’t want to shoot before you even fuck me.”

Ian wiggled the base of the plug, which was flush against Mickey’s pale buttocks, coaxing another moan out of him as the firm silicone presumably brushed against the older man’s prostate.

“Fucking stop!” Mickey said, cringing as he heard how his voice sounded. “Just get in me now! Jesus fuck!”

“Fine,” Ian said. He removed the base of the plug from Mickey’s ass, muscles stretching to accommodate the widest girth of the plug before the rest of it plopped out of the stretched opening as Ian kept pulling. Mickey moaned again in need and anticipation.

Grabbing the lube again, Ian slathered a generous amount on his cock and mounted his fiancé, who was still face down on the bed with his ass in the air, presenting it enticingly to the redhead. Mickey’s hole, while already stretched out and slick with lube from the plug, still felt so warm and tight that Ian could barely stand it. He wanted this to last forever, but he was already so close.

As if he were oblivious to how close Ian was already to blowing his load inside him, Mickey started rocking his hips back into Ian’s pelvis impatiently.

“You want me to cum too soon?” Ian said. “Fucker. You want to enjoy this or do you want me to finish?”

“Just fuck me, hard,” came the muffled voice from the pillow.

With that, Ian took his cue to grab Mickey’s hips and start pounding him the way he both wanted and deserved. Groaning with both the exertion and the pleasure, Ian thrust one final time into Mickey before burying himself balls deep inside his love, cock spewing cum inside him as he found his release.

Ian collapsed onto Mickey, cognizant of the fact the brunet hadn’t come yet. He had an idea, though, and it was the same one they’d discussed earlier before hormones clouded their thoughts and caused them to lay all careful plans of attack by the wayside.

“Turn back around,” Ian told Mickey.

After Mickey obeyed, Ian took the used plug and squirted a fresh layer of lube onto the plug. Ian positioned himself between Mickey’s spread thighs and inserted the plug back in to keep his cum from dripping out. It slid easily into Mickey’s stretched, loose hole, slick with the lube and Ian’s juices.

“Fuck, I love how that looks. So fucking sexy,” Ian said. “I’m going to grab the strawberry lube, put a bunch of it on your cock and suck you until you come in my mouth like a good boy.”

As Ian’s declaration left Mickey very uncharacteristically speechless, Ian grabbed the flavored lube from its hiding place in the sheets. He squirted a bit on Mickey’s cock, using his fingers to distribute it. After licking off the excess from his digits, Ian took Mickey’s cock to the hilt in his throat with one swift, well-practiced movement.

“Ian! Holy fuck!” Mickey screamed. As he tried to thrust and match Ian’s bobbing on his cock, the redhead held the brunet’s pelvis down so Ian could finish him off properly with the exquisite blowjob he’d promised earlier.

“I’m gonna...” was all Mickey could get out before a choked gasp left his throat. Ian’s mouth filled with his fiancé’s hot cum. He swallowed every drop Mickey had to give until the latter’s muscles and cock stopped twitching.

“Damn, that was good,” Mickey said as soon as he maintained his composure and proper thoughts returned to his head. “Let me know when you’re ready for round two. ‘Cause I’d really fucking like that.”

“Isn’t Mandy still technically waiting for us in one of the other rooms?” Ian asked. “We can’t keep her holed up in there forever. What if she has to go to work and we’re keeping her?”

“She came down here specifically on her night off so that wouldn’t happen, fuckface,” Mickey said, cajolingly, to Ian. “It’s fine. Fuck Mandy.”

“But I don’t want to fuck Mandy. Isn’t that how we met in the first place?“ Ian stuck out his tongue and wiggled it.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. Get the fucking lube and get ready for round two.”


	18. Pondering

* * *

“Holy fuck.”

Ian collapsed heavily onto Mickey after they both found their release for the second time in as many hours. The “holy fuck” had to do for now in order to adequately reflect the present moment, since both of the men were sweaty and exhausted, yet utterly satisfied, and couldn’t produce any other semblance of coherent speech.

Ian really hoped he’d have time to take a shower, because he felt just as disgusting as blissful. The redhead ran his hand along the brunet’s torso, fingers stopping on the new surgical scar he found there. He willed away disturbing thoughts about that night in the Beckman showers back in Chicago.

 _It isn’t worth it,_ Ian reminded himself. _They tried to kill Mickey, but they couldn’t. He’s still fucking here with me, nobody can take that away, and fuck anyone else who ever tries to do it again. We didn’t have enough time together before, and now it’s all we have. Just keep fucking telling yourself that whenever things get to be too much._

Luckily, it dawned on Ian that they weren’t the only ones who were on a schedule, so he sat up quickly in bed.

“Where’s that fucking walkie-talkie? There’s no clock in here and I want to know what time it is. Probably late as fuck,” Ian grumbled.

Mickey, still panting heavily, gestured half-heartedly toward the dresser.

Ian got up and walked across the room to the yellow device that lay on top of it. As he picked it up and looked at its screen, his eyes widened.

“Holy shit! It’s fucking 8 o’clock!” Ian exclaimed as he read the LCD display. “Fuck! Mandy is going to kill us for making her wait here so long.”

Mickey chuckled, then shrugged. “It’s Mandy. She’s gonna bitch, but you know she ain’t gonna actually care. I think she’s just happier we both ended up in here together, even though she goes on and on about how we’re still South Side trash and you deserve better. In spite of herself, I think she‘s fucking happy to be wrong, although how wrong was she really? We’re still in jail.”

“Fuck that,” Ian said. He hit the “page” button on the device. “Warden Cassidy? We’re ready to get taken back to our cells now. Can someone come get us?"

After a few minutes, the warden appeared back at the door, leading Mandy inside. She looked mildly annoyed, although Ian knew her well enough to know Mickey was right.

Ian turned away, his face flushed with embarrassment, while Mickey looked surprisingly nonplussed. “You didn’t have headphones?” Ian asked.

“I did,” Mandy said. “But I couldn’t have them in when I was trying to watch TV. Jesus, Mickey. You sounded like a fucking moose bellowing when you got off.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said, lightly shoving Mandy back. “You’re one to talk with the dudes coming in and out of our fucking house at all hours of the night. Holy fucking shit, are you one to talk! The only thing that fucking stopped you was when Ian turned you down!”

 _Fuck! Now Cassidy knows my real first name!_ A wave of panic rushed through Ian. Mickey’s face turned paler still, an accomplishment given his usual alabaster skin tone.

Ian suspected his fiancé realized his gaffe, albeit it was too late to be able to do anything now that the cat was let out of the bag and they were at Cassidy’s mercy now.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck! Goddamn it! You and your big mouth! Now the cartel is going to fucking find us, nail your ass to the wall and it's all because you couldn't follow your own fucking advice to just call me 'assface' in public, and now we're totally fucked! What the actual fuck are we going to do? Can we get transferred to another prison? Wait, then that means I won't be able to ever see my family or Mandy ever again? Son of a bitch!_

Ian tried his hardest to force his face into a smile, chuckle and play it off as a joke. He hoped it came out sounding halfway authentic, but on the inside, he hoped the floor would open up to swallow him or that Cassidy was just really dense. The awful racing thoughts just kept on running themselves through his head like the world's most twisted parade.

Mandy, thankfully, was on point. “You mean Ian Porter? God, that guy was such a fucking prick!” she scoffed. “He turned out to be gay just like you guys, but dear god do I feel sorry for the asshole who ends up with him.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, wishing he could hug Mandy for saving their asses in front of the warden. “I hated that Ian dude. So fucking moody. And he always used to pull runners and not answer your calls when you needed him. Plus, he said he’d wait for you, but he never did it.”

_Thank fuck. Mandy saved us. Hopefully Cassidy will fucking buy it._

“Right?” Mandy said, wryly. “By the way, since I do have to get going and it’s more than an hour to get back to Buffalo, here’s the extra key. That way, both of you have one and you don’t have to be seen leaving together all the time. That way, not even the COs will know. I, speaking of which, have to be your fiancée…so, Mickey? Get the fuck out of here!”

“Fuck you!” Mickey shot back, but he left with Cassidy to be taken back. As he left, Ian could hear Cassidy paging some of his COs to escort Ian and Mandy.

Now that they were alone, Mandy laughed quietly at first. Then, it started turning into louder peals until she was nearly howling. Once she stopped, she looked amused, but also mildly pissed at the same time, in the classic facial expression that only an ex-Milkovich could pull off. Ian tackled her and they both fell onto the bed.

“Fucking Mickey!” Mandy said once she could speak again. “He almost fucking blew your cover in front of the prison warden! What a dipshit! Jesus Christ…give him a punch in the arm for me once we get out of here. I‘m willing to bet even though I just covered for both of you dipshits, Cassidy isn’t dumb and probably now knows ‘Kyle’s’ real name.”

“Was it totally fucking obvious by just looking at my face?” Ian asked, staring at the ceiling, afraid to hear Mandy’s answer but still needing to know.

“I could see how panicked you were, but only since I know you so well - that and I was paid to read guys’ emotions and play to them,” Mandy said. “Not sure if Cassidy could tell. That being said, I doubt he became a prison warden by being unable to read facial expressions, or due to being terribly expressive himself.”

“You’re right,” Ian said. “The only good thing is that knowing my real first name doesn’t reveal I’m a cartel snitch. But I’m still not sure if we can trust Cassidy. The fucking CO at Beckman was the one who helped fucking Sammi and Cortez, the cartel fuck, try and kill Mickey! I hate this shit of not ever knowing who we can ever trust and who we can’t, and now on top of that, Cassidy knows!”

By the end of his tirade, Ian’s voice was becoming louder again, much as it usually did when he became upset.

“Ian,” Mandy said, in the calming, non-judgmental voice she always used when Ian’s anxiety or a suspected episode was kicking in. “I know it’s tough, but please try to trust me. Cassidy knowing your first name isn’t the worst. He doesn't know your last name. Even if he does find out, he‘ll figure you got a fake name because of the Gay Jesus shit.”

Ian sat back against the headboard. He hoped Mandy was right.

“Also: I think you are fine here as long as nobody here knows the Copeland brothers. Unlikely, but possible. But of the two of you, Mickey is the one who has to be fucking careful. You have more to worry about from his past shit than you do about a couple of YouTube videos. Once it comes time for you to testify, assuming you're still here, I wouldn't leave your cells for anything other than showers, work and chow. Least until they no longer need you. It's too fucking dangerous."

Ian's heart sank as he realized Mandy was right. As much as he seemed to be treating his privileges like just such things - privileges - he'd be foolish to let his guard down and assume Cassidy was just a upstanding, benevolent guy who was doing this for them out of the goodness of their hearts.

The feds were paying very well, more than likely, for Cassidy’s cooperation. But what would happen if, by some chance, the cartel was able to follow them here and figure out where they were? What if they offered to make sure Cortez was avenged by offering double what the feds were paying? The possibility was too awful for Ian to even entertain in his head. Cassidy gave Ian no reason to distrust him, but neither had Copeland.

Sighing heavily, Ian stayed in his position against the bed’s headboard, waiting for the COs to show up. He figured it would be at any moment, but he enjoyed being able to have this time with his best friend, whom he hadn’t seen in too long. As concerned as Mandy seemed to be for his own welfare, she was never really one for discussing her own feelings. Even after years apart, Ian could tell when Mandy was using someone else’s problems as a distraction.

“What’s up?” Ian asked. “Don’t tell me ‘nothing,” either.”

Mandy sighed heavily. “It’s tough. I like it here in Buffalo, but...I’m not gonna lie. It kind of sucks. You can’t talk to ANYONE. I mean, I’m not gonna pour my heart out to everyone at work like a fucking pussy, but it’d be nice to get a second chance without having to lie to everybody new. How the fuck are we ever supposed to date anyone or make any new friends if we can’t be honest with any of them about our pasts?”

Ian felt guilty, even though it technically was Mickey who had gotten Mandy placed in WITSEC. He still couldn’t shake the feeling Mickey would still never have been in this situation in the first place. Mickey was almost free, forever, but he flipped on the cartel to be with Ian. The fool.

“We can’t,” Ian said. “We can’t be honest with anyone. Our whole lives, from here on out, are gonna be lies. If Iggy is seeing a new girl, like your brothers were talking about, he had to lie to her. We can’t even have normal lives at all.”

”Hey,” Mandy said. “It’ll be okay. When the fuck were our lives ever normal growing up on the fucking South Side, anyway? It was constantly non-stop one thing after another, and honestly, I’ll take having to lie for-fucking-ever if it means our prick of a dad won’t have any way to see or contact us. I guess...I just brought this up because there’s something I had to tell you. I’m sorry, Ian. It’s about...him. It happened.”

“Him?” Ian said. “Mickey?”

“No,” Mandy said. “Pay attention. We were talking about how tough it is to start a new relationship without being able to talk about your past at all. I was talking more along the lines of -“

Just then, the door swung open, and two COs, not the same two who had escorted them inside the first time, were waiting for them to leave with them.

“Playtime’s over now, lovebirds,” one of the COs. “Up and out.”

Ian and Mandy got up, faking affection by holding hands as the COs hustled them down the hallway. Once they were outside the room, Mandy embraced Ian and, to his shock, planted a kiss right on his lips. Ian tried his best to fake affection, hoping to all that was good and holy this was part of Mickey’s plan and he was okay with this. He kissed back, feeling nothing for Mandy, but willing himself to think of her brother since this was part of the plan to keep them safe.

“Fucking hell. You just spent two hours fucking,” one of the COs, Taylor, scoffed. “Now let’s go. I gotta walk you outta here, and then deal with getting you,” he gestured to Ian, “back and locked up in time for lights out. Get moving.”

As they walked through the hallway, Ian noticed they mostly avoided common areas where anyone could have gotten to Mandy, but they did walk through one secure area of the prison where a few inmates were locked. A few whistled and catcalled until Taylor brandished his baton and told them to shut the fuck up. Cassidy had orchestrated this well - keep Mandy safe, while allowing enough inmates and COs to see them so it looked like they were a straight couple. To top it off, neither of the COs escorting them at this moment knew Mandy was, in fact, a beard.

Once Ian was safely escorted back to the block where he shared a cell with Colin, while Mandy was led back to the main visitors’ area, where she would check out and be searched before being allowed to leave the prison complex.

Once he reached the corridor where his cell was located, Ian arrived to see Colin sitting up in bed, headphones in as he listened to the small, portable radio he was allowed to have in here.

The curly-haired man looked up at Ian. “Yo,” he said. “Took you long enough. Thought you fell in a toilet or some shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian muttered. As much as he’d gotten used to Colin’s presence, he wished he could be with Mickey for the night so that, if not to fuck, they could discuss these seemingly very recent developments with Mandy. Colin was fine for walking around the prison, looking intimidating, as well as for a good vent, but feelings weren’t his forte, right along with higher intellectual reasoning.

Ian climbed in his bed and sat, pondering, knowing they still had a couple of hours before lights out. Unless Ian was wrong, it sounded as though Mandy was attempting THAT ill-advised mess, one he hoped wouldn’t lead to her heartbreak as it had in the past. Ian would especially hate having to be in the same position of getting torn between them.

He supposed it wasn’t terribly surprising, given the account he’d read in the WITSEC book about the former mob wife who struggled to date after her husband left her - about how she had to lie to every man who came into her life afterward. Ian wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to be okay with that, were he in the situation. He felt guilty about having to put Mandy and his own siblings, with the exception of Carl, through that. What if he and Mickey didn’t work out and ended up divorced in a few years? Should Ian leave the WITSEC program?

 _No,_ Ian corrected himself. _Mickey and I are it for each other. Our ride or die. Our Bonnie and Clyde, our Monica and Frank._ He chuckled to himself, one prevailing thought taking precedence over the other ones in his head. Had anyone told him this is where their lives would end up taking them, he would’ve asked if the person was on some drugs.

_Who would have thought, a year ago, I’d be in jail with Mickey, Colin and Jamie Milkovich, while Lip would wind up getting back together with Mandy?_


	19. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, since I was debating making this and the previous into one, anyway.
> 
> Please note the added warning for transphobic language that is not condoned within the context of this story, nor by the author.

The following morning, the three brothers, plus Ian, were eating breakfast as usual, albeit with a pall cast over the whole end of the table. Unfortunately, Ian had to be the one to break the news about Mandy, since none of her brothers had known about her and Lip. It made sense, Ian thought, that she would choose to confide in Ian versus them, since no one of her brothers was exactly a paragon of patience, wisdom or understanding when it came to a delicate situation like this one.

Ian had debated not telling Mickey yet, but thought better of it. It'd be much worse if Mickey found out later that Ian was hiding the information from him, so he decided to just let it all rip and take off the Band-Aid now.

As it was, Ian felt guilty, like he was betraying Mandy, but this was his fiancé he was dealing with. Ian wasn't in the business of keeping such important information from him, and now wasn't a wise time to start, either.

"I can't believe my sister is back together with that fucking asshole! No offense, Red," Mickey spit, having learned from his near-mishap in front of Cassidy and opting to avoid creating a similar situation altogether. "All that’s good is he’s better than that fucking prick who was beating the shit out of her. Barely, but Firecrotch's brother still is better than he was.”

”No shit, Sherlock,” Jamie said. “Only reason I didn’t kick the shit outta that bastard Kenyatta was ‘cause Mandy begged me not to. I could’ve taken that pussy and told him to pick on someone his own size, like me.”

“But still...seriously,” Mickey said. “I don't care at this point if he's your brother, Firecrotch. He hurt her emotionally, just like fuckhead after him hurt her physically. It's the same goddamn thing to me. He does it again, he's gonna be having his nuts for breakfast for the next two weeks, and you two are gonna be right there with me to help me do it!” He was seething by this point.

Colin and Jamie hovered conspiratorially over their Jell-O, debating the best way to dispose of a body if the need arose after they were released. Ian hoped this was hypothetical, as Ian and Mickey had made it clear to them any talk of further illegal activities would need to be just that - talk - lest they be moved again if one of them fucked up. He hoped they - as well as Mickey - could stay straight and out of trouble, which could very well be easier said than done when dealing with career criminals.

"I'm fucking sorry, Mick," Ian said, glumly. "Were it my choice and if I could do anything about it, I'd do everything in my power to try and talk her out of it. As it was, I couldn't even talk to her about it, because the two COs showed up right after Mandy hinted it. But I could tell. And I  wish I could do something already, because I feel so goddamn useless sitting here in this fucking jail while my best friend is probably going to get fucking hurt again by my own fucking brother! I hate this shit!”

Ian, feeling the cumulative stress from this situation and their upcoming testimony, felt like this whole Mandy/Lip situation was just too fucking much. He wished Mandy hadn't even said anything, because now all he was going to do was worry about it and wish he could be on the outside with them, trying to contain any chaos. They all chaos junkies, the lot of them, but he hoped that after the disastrous situations Lip had gone through with Helene, Sierra, Eddie and most recently Tami, he learned some fucking common sense when it came to relationships.

He wondered if Fiona, Lip or any of them would ever be able to find true happiness if they had to lie to anyone new that they met. It was no wonder Mandy got lonely and wanted Lip again, because she wouldn't have to constantly hide who she was...he remembered how much he hated it when Mickey acted, in public, like Ian was nothing to him, like Ian was just a mistress, a bad habit he had to hide in public and put a fig leaf on in order to keep his psycho dad off of their backs. Looking back, he understood why Mickey had chosen to do that in order to protect them, but that didn't make it not suck while it was happening.

And Lip? Lip, for all he protested when others tried to compare him to their asshole father, was the most like Frank of all of the siblings, and he needed his Monica. He hoped against hope that maybe the stars could fucking align this time and Mandy could leave the relationship relatively unscathed, even if it did end up going to hell in the end.

Then again, when did things ever go well for him or for anyone in Mickey and Mandy's family? It was almost against the laws of nature by this point, and Ian had already done enough to them by making them pack up and leave the home they'd known for so long like this - in such a traumatic way.

 _I can't do this,_ Ian thought, an irrational feeling of dread starting to take hold in his chest. His thoughts racing, the feeling was most unwelcome, and Ian couldn't keep them from going to some very dark places he didn't need to explore while sitting at the breakfast table.  _Don't do this. Not now. Please. Focus, Ian. Just try to focus instead of doing this again._

Ian recalled the time when he recorded the message to himself back when he was an EMT, reminding himself to take a break from work if things were starting to get too heavy, and if he felt like he could end up having an episode. He wished he had his phone. He didn't even have a fucking video camera to record that again.

Help seemed so fucking far away, and why the fuck did he feel so alone here, even though Mickey was sitting literally a few feet away from him? Right...because he had to hide who they were again, just like it was when they were kids, and he fucking hated it. He wished he could shout it from the rooftops, but that was why he had a new counselor here to talk to when things got like this. Even so, he didn't care. She couldn't make it safe to out them or undo any of this.

The medical staff at Gowanda, by necessity, had gotten Ian's medical records, name falsified but the information on his diagnosis still the same, so Ian could continue to receive a comparable level of care from the Gowanda psychiatrist and mental health counselors. He had been receiving his morning and evening dosages of mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics, much as he had back in Beckman.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that any change in the dosage would cause the fucking terrible physical and emotional side effects to come back. He'd gone through the whole mess again just before his trial, but at that point, nobody was really around his bedroom (or his dick) enough to care if he had a limp one. Thankfully, that situation had righted itself by the time he got into Beckman and finally saw Mickey for the first time in about two years, but it still sucked to get there.

While he could not speak for any other drug regimen for other medical conditions, it had been his observation that psychiatric meds were extremely trial-and-error, and that disturbed him. Even Mickey noticed how years ago when he'd gone to the psychiatrist to get Ian a refill of his pills, when he protested that Ian wasn't a lab rat. Once he arrived at a dosage and combination of pills that was right for him, that could change at any time based on stress levels. Ian was glad the worst of the physical side effects hadn't come back, which was why he privately thought he wasn't sure if he wanted to report any changes in his mental health to the doctor.

Why force himself to go through that bullshit again? Why mess with his meds and send his body through that physical hell of adjustment and ruin his sex life? He hadn't had any psychotic breaks. He didn't hear any voice of God speaking, nor had he heard such delusions since before Beckman. He didn't want his meds adjusted again, because he was in a good place. He didn't want the zombie-like feeling of moving in slow motion, the sexual side effects or the drag of having to sleep constantly.

Why fix it if it wasn't broken? Ian hated the idea of having to be on this dosage as it was, although by this point, he knew the meds were a necessary evil. He'd be stuck on them for the next several decades, at least, so he thought the best course of action would be the one that governed the least.

As he vanished from the current moment and into and out of his own headspace, Ian vaguely heard a conversation between two men who had just arrived at the table, sitting at the far end. He looked up to see one of the men, whom he'd identified as Steve, said "hi" to the four of them. Damien, the other man with Steve, was holding a newspaper along with his tray.

"What's up? How's your work detail treating you?" Steve asked Ian and the three brothers.

"Not too fucking bad," Mickey said. "About as good as sorting through dirty sheets and clothes can possibly go. Thankfully, none of the shit I've come across has been too fucking disgusting, at least not that I could see. Cum rags are obvious, though."

"Dude, you're always a fucking funny one," Damien chuckled. "Want to know about something else that’s really funny? Take a look at this." He gestured to a headline in the morning edition of _The Buffalo News_ in his hand.

Ian and the three brothers all leaned over to see what what so funny. Ian's face immediately fell when he saw what was "funny," in Steve's opinion, because what he saw was not the least bit humorous at all.

Damien was pointing at a headline and subsequent article about the U.S. Supreme Court hearing a case on the ban on transgender troops in the U.S., which was expected to be upheld with the ruling from the conservative majority of justices. Mickey glanced uneasily over at Ian, hoping this wouldn't get as ugly as it appeared to be turning. Mickey was wrong.

"Can you believe this shit? They want to put trannies back into our military! We don't need that shit because we need them to be as strong as possible, don't you think?" Steve said, shaking his head at the paper that was still in Damien's hand. "These he-shes will just end up making our military weak and we don't fucking need that at all."

Damien chuckled slightly, looking up at Ian, Mickey, Colin and Jamie for validation. Colin and Jamie just stared dumbly. Neither Ian nor Mickey said anything. Mickey filled with dread, knowing how Ian could get when someone pushed his buttons and insulted his personal values like this.

Ian's face was stony, a sign Mickey never saw as good. Mickey's face darkened as the muscles in Ian's forehead tightened and his eyelid began twitching, a sure sign he was about to blow. He could only imagine what was going on inside his head.

 _Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, you fucking prick,_ Ian's mind repeated in an ice-cold, deadly internal monologue going in one direction: through the skull of the asshole in front of him, like a heat-seeking missile ready to destroy him at the earliest opportunity. _Shut the fuck up now before I pound your fucking ass into the floor of this mess hall. Just shut the fuck up. SHUT .THE. FUCK. UP. NOW. You have no idea who the FUCK you are dealing with, asshole!_

Thankfully, Mickey knew better. "Uh...can we fucking talk about something else, please?" Mickey said. "Just...don't. Let's fucking talk about the weather, the fucking Bills or Sabres games, anything else but this? I really don't wanna debate this shit here."

Ian, the rage bubbling over inside him, felt nothing but burning fury, a desire to walk over and punch this prick, who seemingly appeared to be so nice before this happened, right in the nose or the mouth to teach him a lesson.

How could this prick have been so wrong and so stupid, so ignorant? This guy was nothing, a fucking transphobic bigot who probably also hated gay people. Ian needed to teach him the lesson he deserved. He wanted to beat him into submission, show him what it was like to challenge and get his ass kicked by a fucking fag. He’d messed with the wrong  one, since this one could fight.

"Dude, why the hell do you care so much?" Steve said, addressing Mickey. "It's about people in the military you will never fucking meet. Chill the fuck out and don’t go along with this disrespectful shit they’re trying to force on us.”

"Because I have a half-sister who's transgender?" Mickey said. "My dad never found out, but my sister took her in when we were kids because my dad would've flipped shit. She don't have the same mom as us and we haven't seen her in ages, but sometimes I wonder where she is now. When we were kids, we didn't understand why any dude would ever want to chop their dick off, but as we got older, it was live and let live, you know? ‘He’ was always really a she inside. Don't be an asshole. They ain't hurting anyone, and are living the way they want."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Steve said. "I'm sorry your brother is sexually confused. That must be hard."

Without another word, Ian stood up, reached over the table and punched Steve squarely in the nose.

Steve cried out, blood flowing from between his fingers. Seizing the opportunity, Ian grabbed the end of the table and flipped it into Steve, the corner catching him under the ribs and causing him to crumple to the floor. Furious and seeing nothing other than this asshole’s broken body on the floor, Ian climbed over the upended table and showed no signs of stopping.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU CRAZY FUCK?!" Damien yelled.

He grabbed Ian by the sleeve of his jumpsuit, pulling him off of Steve. Ian, incensed, growled and rounded on Damien instead. He tackled him to the floor, straddling him and throwing punches like a UFC fighter who'd had one too many cans of Red Bull before climbing into the Octagon. From there, it was pandemonium.

A gaggle of COs ran in from the hallway outside the mess hall to break up the fighting, some of them frantically paging for backup while several other inmates ran over to try and contain the melee. Meanwhile, there were others who were clearly trying to join in.

On the other side of the room, many of the inmates saw the confusion as a chance to settle their scores with anyone else in the prison who'd upset them, so other fights broke out across the room. Mickey - for once in his life - actually tried to contain the violence and keep the peace. He shouted at Ian to stop, but Ian was beyond hearing him.

"Hey! HEY! Break it up and get on the ground!" Ian heard a voice behind him bellowing. He looked up to see the face of Taylor, one of the COs who had escorted Mandy and him to and from the rooms the previous day.

"You think you're gonna get to fuck your little wife anytime soon again after this display? Cassidy's isn't gonna let you leave your cell again for weeks, if ever! You aren't gonna get special privileges if you pick fights! Get the fuck outta here and come with me! Everyone else - break it the fuck up...Cassidy's gonna put the prison in lockdown! Come help me with this one, someone!”

Ian was numb as Taylor and three other COs dragged him away, not even caring at this point what happened. He’d fucked up. He wasn’t going to be able to see Mickey again soon. All he cared about at the moment, though, was beating the ass of that shithead who’d spoken that transphobic bullshit at breakfast. Now he probably wouldn’t be able to do anything because of his rage. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

 

* * *

 

Before long, Ian was lying in one of the infirmary beds. He’d been aware of what was going on as the COs cuffed him to a gurney and took him upstairs, but he didn’t seem to even care. At the present moment, he was handcuffed to the bed, high on a dose of benzodiazepines to relax him, relieve anxiety and act as a mild sedative. He barely remembered coming up here, too distracted by what had happened and his fears of not being able to see Mickey for the conjugal visits again.

Ian realized vaguely they’d put him in a private room, which probably was for the best. While a feeling of dread tried to run through his body, he noticed it wasn't moving very quickly due to the drugs. _Mickey! I want to see Mickey!_ Ian thought as much he could think through his foggy head. He felt dreamy, almost high, and a welcome respite it was from the uncontrollable, pent-up anger he’d unleashed on Steve. It was a relief, but vaguely Ian was aware he probably would have to face some consequences for what he'd done, but didn't seem like he'd even give a shit about it until later. It was weird, but not unwelcome.

What would happen to him? He didn't think the prison staff, whether the COs or Cassidy, would exactly take kindly to someone starting a brawl at the chow table. Why the fuck couldn't he control his temper? He let one fucking moment of rage override his common sense, and now who the fuck knew what might happen as a result of this? _Fuck! He hated himself!_

Just then, Ian heard a knock on his door, and none other than the stocky form of Cassidy entered. He shut the door behind him. Ian couldn’t read his face.

“Ian?” Cassidy said. “Might as well cut the bullshit and use your real name, since we’re going to get pretty fucking comfortable here.”

Even through the dose of drugs, Ian felt ice running through his veins. _What the fuck?_ He guessed Cassidy hadn't seen through his and Mandy's little act at all. He tried to keep his face in an expression resembling neutral, but he could still feel his heart beating like a fucking hummingbird inside his chest. _What the fuck was going to happen to him now?_

“Yeah, your real name is Ian. I could see the way you just flinched, and how you reacted to hearing that name again as I said it. Don’t feel too bad. I didn’t get to be the supervisor of this prison by being a fucking jackass.”


	20. Atonement

Ian’s blood ran cold upon hearing the words that left Cassidy’s lips. The sedative that had worked its way through Ian’s bloodstream, keeping the bulk of his anxiety and racing thoughts at bay, couldn’t block out all of it.

He’d really fucked up this time. Granted Mickey was the one who’d blurted out Ian’s name in front of him, but then Ian had made the situation a million times worse by attacking Steve in front of the entire fucking mess hall. He was just glad that, of the two of them, for once it wasn’t Mickey who flew off the handle. He guessed the prison was in lockdown, but he had no way of knowing because his room was so isolated.

“Excuse me?” Ian croaked out.

“You heard me,” Cassidy said. “I know your name is Ian. I know you’re gay. I know you came here from out of state, and you flew into a rage in my mess hall over a comment Jackson made about transgender people in the military. I’m not stupid. I can fill in the blanks from there, but out of respect to Peterson and the favor I’m doing for him, I’m not going to voice my suspicions. But I have a good fucking idea what I’m dealing with now.”

_Fuck!_

Ian hung his head, ashamed. Not only had he risked his and Mickey’s lives and safety again, he now gave Cassidy every reason to get suspicious. The prison warden had all but just admitted he knew “Kyle Finnegan” was really Ian Gallagher of Chicago, the former Gay Jesus and savior of the South Side queers. It couldn’t get worse.

“Do you know why I’m in witness protection?” Ian was barely audible, as he humbled himself to find out for sure how fucked they were.

“No. I have no idea, but considering how high-profile your case was, that’s a real fucking good thing I don’t know more,” Cassidy muttered, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “I have have no clue what else you got yourself into after you got yourself locked up. I have no idea who your fiancé is, either, but I can only imagine what other shit the feds might have dropped on my doorstep if they gave me you. As far as I know, you two met each other in whatever correctional facility you came here from. And you better fucking pray I don’t find out any more.”

Ian was about to cry. He’d fucked up so badly, and now his family, plus Mandy, Iggy and Joey, were going to have to be moved again because of his stupidity. The two former thugs and his best friend actually had good lives and jobs on the outside. He and Mickey were so close to the fucking finish line, and now he did this. Not just his heart, but his soul hurt because of shame.

“Does this mean they’re going to have to move our families on the outside?” Ian asked, truly afraid to know the answer.

“Not if Peterson doesn’t know that I know,” Cassidy said. “But he and the feds better pay me double what they’re giving me to keep me on board with their little charade. Like I said, I don’t give a shit what you did, and you’re just another inmate. A number. But when I get saddled with a fucking YouTube personality without my knowledge or consent, I expect to be paid well for it...that being said: I’m not telling Peterson I know who you are. It’ll be a headache and my intention is to have this go with as little bullshit as possible.”

Ian breathed such a sigh of relief, he was fairly certain Cassidy could hear him. At least he, seemingly, could rest more easily knowing the man he wasn’t sure if he and Mickey could trust was apparently a reluctant ally.

“Just listen. Fucking listen real good,” Cassidy said. “I’m putting my ass, my job and my pension on the line for this shit. I have three kids at home. I should go to Peterson right now and tell him what I know. Don’t let me down again, or I will. I’m not fucking doing this twice.”

“Thank you so much,” Ian said. “I won’t let you down again. I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean shit. I expect to actually see real results,” the gruff prison warden said. “I still gotta call Peterson, tell him you got into a fucking fight and ask him what the fuck he wants me to do with you. Probably put you into protective custody. Were it anyone else, we might say a stint in solitary for inciting a prison brawl, but between you and me, I don’t want to subject a mentally-ill inmate to that.”

Cassidy turned to leave, but Ian had one more question to ask. “Why are you doing this for us? Why are you so willing to put yourself at so much risk to see we’re going to be okay? Why do you even care about us?”

Without another word, the prison warden pulled out his phone, fiddled with it and then approached Ian in the infirmary bed. Ian leaned over to look, and once he did, he gasped.

The picture on Cassidy’s phone was of two young men, barely men at all, more like boys just out of adolescence. One was stocky, with the same hazel eyes and dark hair as the prison warden, minus the gray streaks that had appeared in Cassidy’s hair with age. The other was slight and blond.

The camera had captured both of them in an embrace, their smiles reminding Ian of himself and Mickey at a time when they were younger, more naive and carefree, before life took their innocence away. They looked happy.

Tears came to Ian’s eyes, and he knew what the prison warden was going to say.

”My eldest son, Daniel,” Cassidy said, pointing to the dark-haired boy. “He’s 18. And that’s his fiancé, Kevin. Been together since they were 14, since freshman year of high school. Getting married in July. Now I don’t wanna fucking hear either of you doubt me again.”

 

* * *

 

After two weeks in the infirmary, and more specifically two weeks without Mickey, Ian was going stir-crazy. He had supposed it was appropriate punishment for not being able to control his temper at breakfast, but it still didn’t make it any easier for him now.

Cassidy insisted on having Ian stay here to ensure his meds were working effectively, and to curb suspicions of Ian getting special treatment or being anywhere other than being punished for inciting the large-scale fight. He’d spoken to Peterson on the phone, and Ian had asked him if he knew any other information about the upcoming trial. It was still too soon to know much, to Ian’s chagrin.

Ian, having thought about just about everything he could to keep his mind occupied, was running out of ideas. He’d been allowed to use the treadmill and some weights in the private workout room used for physical therapy patients. He’d already watched dozens of reruns of _Grey’s_ _Anatomy,_  and he was even more than ready to go back to sorting gross laundry. It beat the boredom.

Ian was about to roll over in bed and go back to sleep when he heard a knock on the door of his private room.

”Come in!” Ian called out. The doorknob turned, and Cassidy walked in.

“Good news: Steve Jackson is willing to let your little powwow from two weeks ago go. I’ve set up a meeting for you and him in my office. Hopefully you can get your shit sorted out so that I don’t have to get involved any further. And for fuck’s sake, do it. Let it go, especially since I’m moving you, your fiancé and each of your cellmates into protective custody. I just wanted you to talk so he doesn’t try pressing assault charges or suing my prison. Covering my ass.”

Ian gave Cassidy a skeptical, quizzical look, but eventually silently nodded his head in agreement. He really didn’t want to talk to Steve again, and he actually wanted nothing to do with him at all. But even he could see that he’d put himself and Mickey in a really bad spot. Who knew if this dude could try and press assault charges? Ian hadn’t exactly given the transphobic ass a love tap.

But as much of a transphobic asshole as Steve had been, it was in Ian’s best interest to sort this out now, because he didn’t need to add an assault charge onto everything else. Thinking only of Mickey and how much he missed him, Ian silently promised himself he’d figuratively kiss Steve’s ass as much as he needed to, as long as it meant he’d get to literally kiss Mickey’s later.

Ian got up and let Cassidy lead the way to his office, watching as the warden took him through a back way and swiped his card at the checkpoint in the corridor that led to his office. As soon as they passed two more COs and the four all walked in the office together, Cassidy ordered one of them to leave, get Steve Jackson and bring him in. Ian sat down at one of the chairs in front of Cassidy’s desk.

Almost as soon as the sound of knocking betrayed their arrival, the door to Cassidy’s office swung back open. Steve, his two black eyes mostly but not entirely healed, looked sheepishly up at Ian. Steve stared silently in his direction and sat on the small futon along the wall. Ian glowered back at him.

”All right, both of you,” Cassidy said. “I don’t want to deal with this stupid shit for the entire time you’re here...so I advise you to deal with it now so I can wash my hands of it and not have to deal with your shit tomorrow.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Kyle...is that your name?”

Ian nodded slowly.

”Look, dude, sorry. I didn’t know,” Steve said. “I knew nothing about all of this transgender shit and what was and wasn’t gonna offend people, because I grew up on the East Side and was way more fucking concerned about where our next meal was coming from than whether someone’s a chick or a dude.”

It took a minute for that to sink in, but it dawned on Ian. He thought back to when he’d met Trevor, how he’d make some really cringeworthy remarks about trans people back then. He wasn’t trying to be insulting, he genuinely had no idea what was and wasn’t acceptable. It was Trevor who had taught him about part of the LGBT community he hadn’t known, despite being part of it. Even if things didn’t work out there, at least he got to keep that knowledge.

”I grew up in a really shitty part of Akron, so I know how that was,” Ian said, still not smiling. “I wasn’t exposed to a lot of social issues until later in life, for the same reasons. But I still knew better than to call someone’s sister a boy. That’s just really fucking insulting. It was worse because Mick is a childhood friend from way back. We both moved here and got thrown in this can, so yeah, l’m gonna be defensive.”

Steve looked uncomfortable. “Look, Kyle. I’m fine. My face is fine now and I want to just drop it and let it go, okay? I’m sorry I said the shit I did. Now I know, and I won’t do it again. It’s just...when I was growing up, I was always interested in G.I. Joes, tanks and the like. Mind if I share a bit? Won’t take long.”

Ian nodded. “Go ahead.”

"Like I said, I grew up on the East Side. I was lucky to have a dad, because most of the kids in my neighborhood didn’t. Actually did well in school. I worked my ass off, but what I really wanted to do was join the Army. For most of my friends, it was that or be a pro athlete,” Steve said. “Made it as far as boot camp. But then I started hearing the voice of God talking to me. Legit.”

Fairly certain of where this was going, Ian’s eyes widened in a mixture of shock and recognition. “Oh?” Ian said.

”Yeah,” Steve said. “Tried to ignore it at first, but then I got diagnosed with schizophrenia. Got sent home, because they don’t want no crazy dude holding a gun and shooting at people. Can’t say I blame them. I thought God was telling me to forget basic training, go off to the Middle East and start shooting towelheads. If anyone asked me what the fuck was up, I said they were the devil trying to stop me and I basically went nuts on them.”

“Wow,” Ian said.

“After I got sent home, I fell in with a real bad crowd. Did heavy shit and and got popped for selling. That’s why I’m here. All I wanted was to be in the Army, fighting for my country, and I get jail,” Steve said morosely.

 _I wouldn’t know anything about that at all,_ Ian thought sardonically. _I guess at heart, we really aren’t that fucking different. Maybe this dude isn’t so bad after all. I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again after this._

”Dude, that sucks,” Ian said. “Are you still hearing the voices and shit?”

”No. When I started taking my meds, they went away. They had to give me a few different types of antipsychotic shit before they found a good one,” Steve said. “I’m good, now. Aside from still being locked up, that is.”

Ian let a smile creep across the side of his face. “We’re cool,” he said. He extended his hand to the other man.

Steve cracked a small smile back as he took Ian’s hand and shook it.


	21. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Mickey uses sexist and transphobic language consistent with canon (for those who came here from another fandom). He has a half-sister who’s trans and I wrote him as trying in his own way, but he hasn’t spent much time around her. He is ignorant about the LGBT community in spite of being gay since he was raised in a virulently homophobic household, so his language is consistent with that. I neither condone nor use it in real life.
> 
> Background info: The JPay system and the free tablets for inmates mentioned in this chapter are real things, under the New York State Department of Corrections and Community Supervision (DOCCS) in state prisons in NYS.
> 
> Sources:
> 
> http://www.doccs.ny.gov/DoccsNews/2018/Tablets-Initiative.pdf
> 
> http://www.newyorkupstate.com/news/2018/02/company_giving_tablets_to_ny_inmates_expects_to_get_9m_from_inmates_over_5_years.html
> 
> https://www.wkbw.com/news/state-news/all-inmates-in-nys-prisons-to-get-free-tablets

By the time they’d gotten through the meeting in Cassidy’s office, it was time for lunch. Since Mickey, Colin and Jamie had already been moved from their cells in gen pop and moved into protective custody in the two weeks Ian had been kept for observation in the infirmary, Ian was escorted directly to the mess hall where such inmates ate.

Cassidy had no reason before now to put them there, knowing most would just assume his federal witnesses in disguise were garden-variety drug offenders. However, now that Cassidy knew for sure that he had an openly-gay inmate who’d all but come out in front of everyone, let alone an Internet celebrity and protected witness, it was too dangerous to keep them out in gen pop.

”Hey, asshole. Done picking fights? Better leave that up to us next time instead of going too far below your pay grade,” Colin chirped.

Mickey just stared at Ian, his face hard to read. Ian felt a twinge of guilt, knowing his fiancé was probably pissed at him for not being able to keep his temper. Thanks to him, they hadn’t been able to see each other at all in two weeks, and Mickey had every right to be mad. Ian was lucky he didn’t get any time added onto his sentence.

In the smaller mess hall of Gowanda’s equivalent of the PC unit at Beckman, Ian felt more comfortable both being with Mickey and being able to let their guards now a little more. He knew they couldn’t exactly spill their guts or start making out in front of everyone, but he at least had only a couple of hundred companions in this wing versus four or five times that in gen pop.

”Mick,” Ian said, looking at him.

”We gotta talk. Not here. Later, maybe while we’re in out of the prison yard or the laundry room,” Mickey said, still forcing his face into an impartial expression. Ian could tell that he still looked pissed.

 

* * *

 

Once Ian had crammed down his helping of a chicken sub with tater tots on the side, he and Mickey had about an hour to talk before they had their shift in the laundry room. Ian walked sheepishly behind Mickey as they went outside to the smaller, private exercise yard.

As they settled in near the pull-up bar attached to the outside wall of the building, in as much isolation as they could get, Mickey let Ian have it with both barrels.

”You’re a stupid fucking asshole, you know that?!” Mickey hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “What the fuck? I mean, I‘ve gotten in my share of prison scraps, but never when I’m so close to the finish line and sure-as-fuck never at chow in front of everyone. Jesus Christ, things like this make me want to start smoking again. Wish I had a smoke right now, actually.”

All Ian could do was sigh, because there was nothing he could possibly do to defend himself. Cassidy had already lectured him, and now Mickey, who had as least as much reason to be mad at him, was getting his chance.

”I’m sorry, Mick. I’m so sorry. I know that I almost fucked things up for us, and I could’ve gotten more time added on. Thank fuck I didn’t, but I know how fucking stupid I was.”

Mickey exasperatedly put his head in his hands and grabbed at his short, black locks before opening his mouth again. “I mean...granted I know you’re big on the whole saving the queers thing, but what the fuck was it about that that set you off so bad? I know it was my sister, Molly, and all, but you fucking had her living in your house with Mandy for fucking what, two months tops?”

Ian nodded.

”So my sister ran her piehole about having a girl penis or shit,” Mickey said. “Why the fuck did what that asshole said bother you so much now? Don’t even know where the fuck Molly is, which is why the feds probably didn’t bother looking for her. She’s with her mother, whoever the fuck she is. Bitch my dad knocked up. As it is, Yev was more‘n likely his and not mine.”

 _This is awkward,_ Ian thought. He shuffled his feet against the grass he stood on in the yard. “Mickey...” he said sheepishly. “I think there’s something I never told you about what I did after you got locked up for trying to off Sammi.”

”Eh?” Mickey asked. “Something else that wasn’t trying to save the world, learn how to be an EMT and all that shit? I knew you were fucking somebody else when I broke out, but I didn’t give a fuck who and didn’t want to know.”

”Yeah. His name was Trevor. He was trans,” Ian blurted out.

”The fuck?!” Mickey exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were into that shit...you fucked him? I guess a hole is a hole when it comes down to it, and I mean...I fucked enough women and dudes are pretty fucking straightforward. Just tried not to think too much about it. But I figured you let some other guy besides this Trevor fucker do it to you, since he didn’t have a dick.” 

“Umm...” Ian stammered. “No. Never let anyone else fuck me. It was Trevor. And when I was emotionally fucked-up and confused, I also let a strange girl from the L take me back to her place. I fucking hated it. Don’t know how you dealt.”

”You mean you...” Mickey trailed off. “You let this dude fuck you with a strap-on? And you fucked a chick, too? What the fuck? I leave for two years and you become a different fucking person? You get a brain transplant?” Ian couldn’t tell if the brunet looked shocked, disgusted or a mix of the two.

“Brain transplant? Watch your mouth,” Ian said sharply. “Hell, I’d take one of those to not need to take that shit I have to take every morning and evening. But yeah. I was fucked-up and confused after you went away. Dated a firefighter, too. Seemed nice, but turned out to be a lying fucking asshole who was screwing some chick he’d known since high school on the side the whole time.”

Mickey’s eyebrows escalated into his hairline in the way only he could pull off. “He cheated on you with somebody he had been fucking since high school? What an asshole! Who even does that kind of shit? Bet he even almost ran off to Mexico with her, too. Fucker.”

Ian flushed bright red. “Fuck you. That wasn’t the same thing and you know it.”

The only good thing out of this exchange was that Mickey was smirking now, in his trademark manner, rather than looking pissed. “I fucking hate to think of you with anybody else. You’re mine, Red. I fucking love you. But hey - you knew what you liked, so not sure why you felt like you had to do more shit.”

”Looking back on it...I honestly think it was because both of the guys I tried to see after you were bad for me. Caleb talked me into sleeping with a woman - said I was being narrow-minded and had to do it once. Hated it, like I said. Trevor pressured me to take it in the ass from him after I told him I exclusively topped.”

“What a dick. Then again, he didn’t have one, so maybe that’s why,” Mickey smirked again. “Glad I got one? I know you always liked it.”

”Yes. I love yours. Always did. It’s perfect,” Ian responded. “Now stop with that kind of talk, because I told you I don’t like it. But moving on. Want to use the conjugal visit room with the keys Cassidy and Mandy left us, or you wanna go back to like old times?”

Mickey, giving Ian another shit-eating grin, nodded. “We got another half-hour before we start our shift in the laundry room,” he answered. “Lemme lead us to a blind spot where the cameras can’t see us and you can get on me.”

Excited beyond belief that he’d not only diffused the 5’7” dynamite keg, but also was going to get laid as well, Ian followed Mickey back inside and walked along some of the corridors in the prison until they settled on a spot next to the door that led to a trash compactor. A few recycling totes lay scattered nearby.

”By the garbage, in the indoor equivalent of an alley? Fuck, you really are trying to get back to our roots after all,” Ian said.

“Shut the fuck up and just fuck me like I know you want to,” Mickey said. “Since we haven’t fucked in two weeks because of your dumb giant ass.”

Ian forcefully closed the gap between himself and Mickey, meeting his smaller partner’s lips in a rough kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He then turned Mickey so he was facing the wall and forced his pants down just enough so his ass was exposed, thankful they had beige two-piece prison garb here and not those awful one-piece things the inmates wore at Beckman. Ian undid his fly and pulled out his hard cock. 

Mickey took two packets of lube out of his front pocket. He tossed one to Ian and hastily prepped himself with his fingers, while Ian slicked up his own cock with his portion of lube.

”Where did you get these?” Ian asked.

”Grabbed ‘em the last time we were in the conjugal visit room,” Mickey responded, his voice thick with lust. “In case of something like this.” He panted harder as he swirled his fingers around and curled them to hit his spot.

”Smart man.” Ian, his cock fully hard and aching by now, moved behind Mickey, pressed one hand onto his partner’s lower back and pushed slowly into him. Mickey whined, a low, guttural noise that never failed to turn him on.

As the smaller man’s body became more accustomed to Ian and his hole loosened up accordingly, Ian picked up the pace until he was really slamming hard into Mickey, the sound of their slapping skin deafening loud in the quiet corridor where they were fucking in full view of anyone who might walk by.

“Fuck,” Mickey hissed as quietly as he dared. He bit his knuckles over the tattooed letters on them in a desperate bid to stay as quiet as possible, but it just felt too goddamned good. He reached down and grabbed his own hard, aching cock that was leaking pre-cum into the boxers that were still containing, but constricting it.

”I’m getting close,” Ian grunted as he kept pounding into the older man’s wet and warm hole. “Want me to finish?”

”Fuck,” Mickey responded. “So am I. Go ahead and finish. Fuck!”

Mickey grunted softly as he came, creaming his boxers and pants since it had nowhere else to go and they didn’t want to risk getting completely undressed lest someone find them, and they could just grab fresh boxers and pants, and toss these cum-stained clothes into one of the machines, in a few minutes anyway. Ian panted harder and his thrusts became jerky before he also groaned, shooting his warm load inside of Mickey.

“Fuck, that was good,” Mickey said, profound relief all over his face.

 

* * *

 

As a state-run prison, Gowanda had received tablets for all of the inmates to use, to much fanfare in the media and controversy from the general public. They'd just come in a few short weeks before Ian's arrival at the prison. Both Colin and Jamie loved them and joked that they'd never have left if had they gotten these while they were back in juvie. That evening, after they'd come back from dinner, Ian flopped down onto his cot and picked up his.

The tablets could not actually connect to the Internet and had no WiFi access, but they did allow inmates to send emails and purchase educational materials like e-books, as well as download music and videos to watch using the electronic JPay system. Colin used his to listen to music and watch shows on the corrections-approved version of Netflix, since Ian had never seen any of the Milkoviches, including Mandy, crack open a book in the entire time he’d known any of them. Mickey had already regaled Ian over lunch about how Jamie had tried (and failed) to look for porn.

Ian had already purchased some books and was on his way through a second read-through of the entire _Harry Potter_ series, while Colin sat in the cot nearby listening to whatever loud metal music Ian could clearly hear from several feet away, even through the headphones. The tablets also allowed the inmates to access their commissary accounts, and family members and friends of inmates could use JPay to send them the money that went into their accounts.

While scrolling through the options, Ian also saw a function of the tablets that allowed him to report grievances to the New York State prison authority, the Department of Corrections and Community Supervision, and there was a tab to report rape and sexual abuse as violations of the state's Prison Rape Elimination Act, which had existed since 2003, and file grievances against COs or other inmates. Selfishly, Ian hoped that his concession to Steve for now would be enough to keep Ian from getting into further trouble over his little outburst and getting his ass reported.

Since one of the apps programmed in the tablet allowed him to look up state laws, the redhead had spent much of his time looking up ones that were pertinent to inmates' rights, to where his nose was buried in the tablet almost all the time. While Illinois had some fairly progressive laws as well, Ian was pleased and appreciative to see the number of concessions New York State law made toward making life better for people such as himself as Mickey.

He found the law that had been interpreted to allow inmates in New York State to marry, unlike in Illinois, while leaving it at prisons’ discretion as to whether they’d be housed together. He'd thought about it, but decided he would much rather wait until they were both released in order to allow them to have the wedding they really wanted, versus a quickie inmate ceremony with a prison chaplain. Thankfully, Mickey agreed and wanted to wait until they got out.

Ian had assumed since they didn't have actual Internet connection, they didn't have access to email, either - but he soon realized he was wrong. This was a hell of a lot better than sending snail mail, he thought, and as he browsed through the functions, he could see he had access to video chat.

His finger hovered over the "email" app, and he was pleased to see the email addresses for Fiona, Lip, Debbie and Carl were already programmed into the tablet, likely courtesy of Cassidy. He was especially curious to see how Carl was doing in military school. Given the circumstances surrounding all of his other siblings' exit from the South Side, they'd made special arrangements for Carl to live on campus over the summer until he went to West Point.

Ian looked at the brief list of approved email addresses and sent a quick email to Carl at his campus address, sharing a few more tidbits of advice on getting used to life as a prospective soldier and being in the military himself, albeit for such a short-lived stint. He then prepared to type a longer one to the siblings he’d seen more recently. He decided to send one mass email to all of them at once. It’d be quicker.

Knowing all of the incoming or outgoing emails would likely get passed through and monitored by administrators just as snail mail was, he tried to be vague while still conveying his thoughts. He also wasn’t sure if his family knew what his fake name was here, so he figured he’d have to get creative.

_Hey guys,_

_Things are going all right. I’m cellies with Colin and Mick is with Jamie - yeah, those guys. Been a while since I last saw them, but they’re cool and I’m safe._

_Speaking of safe: wanted to say first that I’m okay, but I got into a fight with a transphobic asshole while at breakfast two weeks ago. Didn’t get extra time, but they kept me in the infirmary for those whole two weeks and ended up adjusting my meds. Fiona: before you ask...yes, I’ve been taking them, and never went off of them at all in here. Don’t ask me._

_Anyway, I’m just checking to see how you’re all doing. Have any of you gotten new jobs yet? I know you’ve been there for less than a month. I miss all of you so much._

_-Red_


	22. News

The following morning, when the COs were making the rounds to rouse the inmates in the PC unit for breakfast, Ian rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He checked his tablet as Colin stirred in his own cot several feet away, grumbling about how these screws needed to let them get a full night’s sleep for once - seemingly neglecting the fact Colin had stayed up watching TV on his tablet and done it to himself. 

"Dude, if you're fucking tired, maybe you ought to not stay up late watching reruns of _BattleBots_ ," Ian said. "Lip used to do that stuff back when we were kids. He even made an extremely shitty-looking robot called 'Frank' to piss off all of the preppy college kids. Waited until the last minute and then nuked theirs to hell. They were so pissed."

"Fuck you. I like them," Colin grumbled back. "Sue me, asshole."

As he rolled over again and prepared to get up, Ian opened the "email" app on his tablet and saw he had one unopened email. _Thank fuck. I was hoping someone was going to get back to me fairly quickly, but at least I didn't even have to wait an entire day for it,_ Ian thought as he smiled to himself.

The redheaded man frantically pecked his finger at the bright red bubble on the tablet screen with the white number "1" inside of it, eager to know what his message was and from which of his siblings it came. It turned out to be an email from Lip, time stamped 11:30 p.m. Ian saw Lip had sent his response to Ian’s email to multiple recipients, namely all of their siblings minus Liam.

_Hey man,_

_Thanks for updating us on what's going on. How's this jail been treating ya? Hopefully Sergeant Slaughter and the rest of his platoon are keeping out of trouble, and you, too. You’re real lucky you didn’t get time added. Luckier the Sarge didn’t jump in and make it worse. (He didn’t, right?) Maybe he isn’t so bad._

_Things are ok with some of us. Fiona's not doing so hot. She isn't adjusting well to the move, and she feels fucking guilty about failing with her real estate shit and leaving Kev and V. She's been drinking almost as bad as I used to, already got fired from the diner the feds set her up to work in, and lost her shit on some racist bitch who tried to fuck with Liam. People are racist shits here, I hate to tell you, considering this is New York. Tell you more deets later in person.  
_

_Can’t promise when that's gonna be, because shit's been crazy between that and Frank being in some stupid beer competition in another one of his get-rich schemes we're fucking famous for. Things are all right with me and Mandy. As bad as things were back home when we tried working it out the first time, I'm actually hoping it keeps going the way it has been. I'll do my best to not be a fucked-up shithead because now that I'm sober and got my shit together, I can be there for her finally._

_Keep us updated. I like how we can email you here. Let's talk on Skype this evening, soon as you're done with dinner or whatever your schedule is._

_\- Lip_

Ian snickered. He turned in the direction of the shaggy head that was still struggling to get out of the other cot. "My brother called Mickey and you guys 'Sergeant Slaughter and the rest of the platoon.' Lip called Mickey that a few times back when we were kids, but he never got the rest of you in on it, too," he told Colin. "Asked how you were all doing."

"Fucking shithead. Tell him he can kiss all of our Glocks when we get out of this fucking shithole finally. I always did hate that preppy, pretentious fucking asshole. Should've just offed him, instead of fucking Frank, when we had the chance."

 

* * *

 

"So your sister is in some deep shit?" Mickey asked Ian once they'd shuffled over to the mess hall for breakfast. “That’s kind of surprising but kind of not, given the rest of your siblings’ history and that you’re fucking me. Shows all of your fucking stuck-up asshole siblings ain't exactly good fucking judges of character.”

”Yeah,” Ian said, too worried to come up with a comeback to Mickey's usual snark, and he even let the jab at his siblings slide - for now. “I don’t know what happened, because Lip doesn’t want to email me anything too specific because so many people could fucking read it. Don't think I need to tell any of _you_ that probably three dudes read all of our emails before they get sent out, just like with our snail mail. But I hate that and want to know what happened. Hope she didn’t get herself arrested, because my brother was real vague."

He took another bite of his food, swallowed and then continued. "I hope it's nothing real bad, because the first time she visited me at Beckman, she had a cast on her arm and wouldn't tell me what happened. As it was, she still didn't even talk about it months later when we were living out of motels, hotels and the briefing center. The only other time I'd seen her like that before this most recent time, Liam ODed on coke and she went to jail. She was a fucking mess back then, and if she isn't adjusting well to life in Buffalo, we could all be in deep shit having to deal with it. Almost makes me fucking happy to be stuck in prison for now while shit boils over."

”How the mighty fucking fall,” Mickey said dryly. “Gentrified real estate mogul of the shit-stained streets we used to live on is one of us again.”

“Hey,” Ian said sternly, finally having reached his breaking point. “Don’t be an ass. I hated what Fiona did to me back when I was trying to do my shit and she kept getting in the way by buying the church we wanted to use as a shelter and shit, but she’s still my sister. I’m not gonna shit-talk Mandy in front of you.”

Mickey took a bite of his turkey sandwich and said nothing further.

”I wonder what’s going on with the trial,” Ian said, lowering his voice so nearby tables couldn’t hear. "Mick and I are gonna have to testify, but we haven’t gotten any details yet. I know this shit takes a while, because my trial would’ve dragged on had I pled not guilty and it went before a jury. It’d be real nice to talk to Peterson, but I don’t know if Cassidy will let us. We don’t have his email address in our tablets. Maybe ask Cassidy if he can give it to us?”

”I hate to break it to you: it’ll take as long as it takes. My trial was fucking quick, but that was a real shit show,” Mickey said. “Nobody could say I wasn’t there, or didn't do it, without perjuring themselves. Most were good and didn’t snitch. Iggy was a character witness but he did jack fucking shit, Mandy was gone, and where the fuck were you?” He glared at Colin and Jamie.

Ian felt another stab of guilt, but Mickey didn’t push the issue further. Ian had attended Mickey’s trial a few times early in the proceedings, more out of a feeling of guilt than anything else because Mandy was gone, Iggy was Iggy and the rest of his brothers were locked up. 

Since neither of the brothers answered, Mickey just cleared his throat. “Yeah. Fuckheads here will tell you the same thing. They wanna put those fucking cartel bastards away as much as we do, and we both want to see them fucking fry that bitch along with them. But we gotta just wait it out. Feds have a fuckton of evidence they gotta sort through and shit.”

He paused for a second, seemingly pondering his next words. “We can try asking Cassidy, but we should see if we can actually get Cassidy to program Peterson’s email address into the tablets, since we gotta talk to him,” he continued. “Oh, and Firecrotch: speaking of Cassidy, what say we use our room he gave us again tonight after dinner?”

Colin and Jamie snickered until Mickey punched each of them in the arm.

 

* * *

 

After they had finished dinner, Ian and Mickey walked past the security door that separated the PC unit from the hallways leading into gen pop. As always, Ian pretended to head to the laundry room, and they staggered their entrance into the room so nobody could see them coming or going at the same time.

Ian thought back to the time when they were kids and this was part and parcel of fucking around at the Kash and Grab, missing their more innocent days but glad they wouldn't have to hide like this ever again after they were both finally out.

Ian was also glad that moving them from one wing into the other didn’t take away their access to this hallway. Ian suspected someone had done this intentionally to allow inmates from both gen pop and the PC unit to visit this area, albeit the inmates were usually escorted by the COs and weren't normally permitted to just come and go into it, as they pleased, like they were doing because of their "special circumstances."

Once Ian reached the room, Ian turned the key in the lock. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ian tackled Mickey, who was already sitting on the bed when the redhead walked in. They landed haphazardly onto the foam as they kept making out passionately.

Although they'd been able to get in here fairly frequently, it was still like coming home, like breathing in air after taking water into his lungs and coming perilously close to drowning, each time they were finally able to steal away and be alone like this.

Ian pulled away just enough to murmur, "I missed you so much, Mickey. Missed this. I love you."

"Love you too, Ian," Mickey said. "But hey, you want to try using more of the toys? I’d like to see what the Fleshlight feels like since I’ve never had one,” Mickey said.

He got up, opened the toy chest, pulled the object in question, which was still in the original packaging, out and examined the box. While the toys came in styles ranging from realistic vaginas to beer cans, Mickey had picked out one with a clear plastic case and a soft rubber sleeve. He’d added the care kit, including a soap and special powder to allow the rubber to stay soft, as well.

Mickey opened the box, put aside the lube sample inside and instructions, and examined the toy. He poked at the opening and the soft, squishy rubber on the exterior of the sleeve before sticking a couple of fingers inside, taking care not to rip it since it was delicate, especially without lube. There were little nubs, ripples and texture that were supposed to feel good for the user.

”Oh, fuck. I bet this is going to feel great on my dick,” Mickey said, his blue eyes narrowing in lust. “Wanna do it as foreplay or have me fuck it while you’re pounding me?”

”How about both?” Ian smirked. “And I think you’re wearing way too many clothes for my liking. I say we fix that. And speaking of foreplay, how about that vibrator? Bet it will feel good for you with that curved end.”

Just then, a hard, firm knock came on the door. Both men jumped, and Ian scrambled to grab his clothes, diving for his pants on the floor.

 _”Fuck!”_ Mickey interjected.

"What is it?" Ian answered from his position there. He figured it'd be best if only one of them spoke, in case anyone else was outside in the hallway. Nobody else ought to hear two men's voices from inside a conjugal visit room.

"Finnegan?" the prison warden's voice boomed through the door, still keeping up appearances by using Ian’s fake name under which he was booked. "Jim Cassidy."

Ian groaned, but figured that Cassidy wouldn't have bothered them over something trivial. As he pulled his pants back on and reached for his shirt, Ian called, "Come in!"

The door swung open to reveal the stout man who'd become their unlikely ally. "Sorry to bother you. I saw you heading through the door into this wing on my office CCTV system, and figured I'd catch you before you...got too occupied. Rest assured that I wouldn't have bothered you unless it was for something of vital importance."

Mickey grumbled loudly. "What the fuck? This better be," the pissed-off brunet spat.

"Oh, it is. Peterson is on the phone for you. I've set up a FaceTime chat so that all three of us can talk in my office," Cassidy explained, nonplussed by Mickey's greeting. "I talked to him and a few folks from DOCCS to try and pull some strings. I’ve got some good news. You're both gonna be getting out of here sometime in the next couple of weeks once we get all of the red tape finished. Maybe next week since I’m already working on it."

The prison warden smiled, one of the very few times Ian had ever seen anything other than a stony scowl, disapproval or an impassive expression on Cassidy's face.

Ian couldn't believe it.  _This was it. After less than a fucking year served in these hellholes, Mickey and I are both going to be getting out next week or the week after. We'll finally be free._


	23. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All information about Buffalo is from personal experience. 
> 
> I own neither Anchor Bar nor Duff’s, but I have been to both. Here is some background info on them, and a visual for if/when they appear in the story:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YcJpkh-wf-E

Nine days later, Ian was such a mixture of antsy, worried and excited, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to properly keep his food down. For the last week and a half, he’d been thinking about what their apartment would look like and the kind of job the feds might help him get - and how his family was doing. He also hadn’t seen Mandy since the time she’d driven down to be Ian’s beard at the prison.

Ian realized how much he missed a less-structured home environment, and it dawned on him that rigidity wasn’t as much for him as he'd thought when he was aspiring to go to West Point. _Maybe the Army wasn’t such a good choice after all,_ he thought, as much as he had always wanted that. He didn’t particularly like a set schedule.

It dawned on him that even before he had pulled the stunt with the helicopter, having bipolar disorder in and of itself would have been grounds for being sent home. _It wasn’t fair_ , he thought, but it was what it was, and made it inevitable rather than a result of things for which he could beat himself up. 

While his memory of the act itself was fuzzy, like he was looking in on himself because of how many details he’d gotten from third parties, he guessed the helicopter escapade was due to boredom, the need for some chaos. Or it was the simple fact he had poor impulse control and it seemed like a logical, fun thing to do at the time.

Now he was about to get the life he’d always wanted, finally able to be with Mickey. He wondered what their neighborhood would be like. Was it like the South Side? Would there be a lot of people who’d be accepting of himself and Mickey? The woman who’d been racist to Liam weighed on his mind, but that could happen anywhere.

Transphobic Steve had told him the Elmwood Village area was pricey, urban with lots of hipster-y shops and small businesses there. It sounded like gentrification had played a large role in this, and he hoped it wasn’t going to have the negative traits of the changing South Side landscape he remembered before he got locked up, or Mickey would have a really hard time.

Ian shoveled down his food as quickly as possible. Cassidy hadn’t told him exactly when they’d be leaving, and Ian had no idea what to expect. The last time he’d left a prison had been when he’d gone to the U Chicago trauma center after he and Mickey had been attacked in the Beckman showers. That wasn’t quite the grand exit he’d planned.

So he’d asked Mickey, Colin and Jamie. All of them told him that a CO would come and wake him up early on the morning, and he’d be able to gather the clothes and belongings he came in with, including his cell phone. They’d lead him to processing and he’d get a card with the money that had been put into his commissary account.

"So, it ain’t gonna be today. You’ll know when they’ll be letting you out," Mickey said. "Usually in juvie, they’d pop up out of fucking nowhere the day before and let me know I was getting out early for overcrowding or some shit. Then they’d take me to receiving and release, make me sign a bunch of papers and then give me back all of my shit."

"Yeah?" Ian said. "You get to keep all the shit that you come in with?"

"Take whatever means anything to you when you leave, because you ain’t gonna be able to come back in and get it after you go," Mickey added. "Oh - and Cassidy is gonna help us leave with the chest of shit in the room since that’s ours. Cheaper than mailing it, since it weighs like 30 pounds. I told him to call Mandy to come get us, so she will be here to pick us up. Dunno if your siblings are coming. That’s fucking it."

"I can’t believe we are getting out of here," Ian said softly, wishing more than ever that he could take Mickey’s hand and celebrate, kissing and hugging him right here. It hurt him that he couldn't do more, but it had to wait. Once they were both out of jail, they'd have all the time in the world to be together while getting used to their new home.

"Soon, Red. It’ll be real fucking soon."

As Cassidy came in to tell him ten minutes later, "soon" turned out to be the next morning. Mickey was right.

 

* * *

 

Taylor knocked on Colin and Ian’s cell door at ass o’clock in the morning, like Mickey had said. Ian was glad he’d showered the previous day, since he wasn’t sure how much time he would have had now. He hovered around their cell grabbing the WITSEC book, the tablet, toiletries, and spare pairs of socks, boxers and shoes. There wasn’t much else for him to take.

"So long, motherfucker. See you on the other side," Colin said to Ian as Taylor waited outside for the redhead to finish gathering his belongings. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, but you'd probably like that."

Ian flipped him the bird. "See you, Colin. Don’t beat anybody up who doesn’t deserve it."

"Fuck you. Look who’s talking. You fucking pummeled that dude a couple weeks ago,” Colin shot back. "You got no room to say shit."

Another CO, Daniels, accompanied Taylor as Ian was cuffed and led out of the cell. He saw Mickey also being led out by another pair of COs down the hall ahead of him, but Ian dare not say anything else or give any other sign of recognition beyond just a friendly "fuck you" and a congrats on getting out, which is exactly what he did.

Once he arrived at receiving and release, Ian was led through the release process. He turned in his prison-issued tablet and gave back the spare articles of clothing, since one of his siblings had apparently already dropped a set of his own off. _Turning in this prison garb is the first real, ceremonial sign that my life is now my own again,_ he thought as he changed into his street clothes.

He barely noticed what he was signing as prison officials explained each of the large stack of many forms to him. He signed them all with his fake name of “Kyle Finnegan,” since Cassidy and Peterson had told him he was allowed to do so for "Ian Gallivan" to have a clean record. It dawned on him how he didn’t even know what last name Mickey had been booked under.

Ian and Mickey waited in separate offices for Mandy to arrive, after which COs would drive them to her vehicle. Ian quickly shot emails to his siblings to let them know he’d be coming, but since they had only one car, he wasn’t sure who’d need it for work and who‘d be able to come. He wasn’t sure, however, what would happen with Fiona.

She’d come to visit a few days prior. Fiona and he had shared an emotional moment before she dropped a huge bombshell that shocked Ian: she’d broken the rules by contacting V and Kev in Chicago. Although Ian was initially pissed and nearly cut the visit short - how could Fiona jeopardize their safety like this?! - she tearfully told Ian she wanted to go home because she was so unhappy and homesick, and this was a last-ditch effort to keep her from leaving the program. If this didn’t make it work, she would leave then.

Ian begged her not to do it; at least, not until after he’d testified. He was also concerned about one of them, more than likely Kev, not understanding the magnitude of the situation and blabbing to someone by accident.

Fiona had explained to V and Kev that the family was in witness protection, but not what city they had moved to, because she was so desperate for a small taste of home and hated being away. She agreed that Kev had a way of saying things he shouldn’t in his childlike way, so she stayed mum and told them not to tell anyone what they knew.

To add more stress, Fiona had told Ian how Frank was also MIA after having wandered off in the most Frank-like manner possible, corroborating the most recent email Ian got from Debbie. Ian hoped Frank wouldn’t blab their location or anything about their real identities, but considering the fact they were getting free money from the government for being in the program, Ian guessed the old man would be back eventually and he would keep his mouth shut in order to keep the federal gravy train running, if nothing else.

Before long, two more COs came to get Ian and all of his stuff. Cassidy, who had since shown up, loaded the chest of sex toys he’d help procure onto the van while deflecting questions from his subordinates on what he was allowing two inmates to take out of his prison in a lockbox. The prison warden snapped that as long as it wasn't drugs, why the fuck was it their business?

As other prison officials were helping with Ian and Mickey's stuff, Ian looked over at the stern, hard-faced warden who secretly ended up sticking his neck out for them and doing so much, at such risk to himself and his own career. The redhead leaned just close enough toward the older man so he could hear what Ian had to say.

"Thank you for everything," Ian whispered to him.

The warden gave him the very faintest hint of a smile before jerking his head in the direction of the van to indicate their stuff was ready, and it was time for them to go. Once Ian and Mickey confirmed all of the stuff was inside, the van driver nodded. They drove away from the receiving and release area, toward the side gate of the prison. Two cars Ian didn’t recognize were waiting there for each of them.

As their van approached, Ian could see Lip get out of the driver’s seat of one of the cars; followed by Debbie, who leaned back to help Frannie out of her booster seat in the middle seat before exiting the vehicle; and Fiona, who’d squeezed in the back with Liam. All four wore huge smiles, but Fiona looked more than a little hungover, to Ian’s chagrin. Mandy, who left the driver’s seat of the other car, had the demeanor of someone for whom this was far from a first rodeo. She just smirked at them.

Realizing they were still in full view and earshot of the prison officials and COs, none of them said Ian's name. Nevertheless, they enthusiastically cried out as they ran toward Ian to forcefully hug the tall redhead. Even Mickey reluctantly came over to them and embraced Ian's siblings in an awkward one-armed attempt, knowing he might as well play nice since these people would be his future in-laws, once he and Ian figured out a date to get married in the hopefully-near future.

"You look great," Fiona said tiredly to Ian. "But let's get your stuff into our car and then we can show you around our new place. We'll meet you guys later this week for dinner?" She addressed the former Milkoviches.

Mandy and Mickey just nodded before beginning to load their stuff into Mandy's car. They moved with a practiced, methodical sense of wanting to get this over with, coupled with one of having done this way too many times before. Mandy gave Mickey a strange look when she felt how heavy the box of toys was, but Mickey ignored her.

Once all the prison officials had left, Mandy shouted a quick "fuck you," her family's own unique version of a parting shot, but Mickey had a grim, determined look on his face Ian knew and did not like. The black-haired man walked over to Lip, grabbed his shirt and hissed something in his ear Ian couldn't hear, but the way his elder brother's face fell told Ian pretty much all he needed to know about its nature.

Mickey had said to Lip, "You fucking hurt her again, and you're gonna be picking your teeth up off the pavement," before getting into the car with Mandy and speeding away from the prison complex toward his and Ian's freedom.

 

* * *

 

The drive from Gowanda Correctional to the city of Buffalo was a little more than an hour, and Ian was antsy because all he really wanted to do was get settled into the family's new home - that and the fact Liam had volunteered to ride in the hatchback trunk so Ian could fit. On the way, his siblings told him all about the house. It was a two-family house, versus an apartment in a complex, and they would be occupying the entire space - both the upper and lower.

Frank lived upstairs, although it was empty at the moment due to his absence, while the rest of the family had the lower apartment. They were renting the entire house from a landlord who'd come up with an agreement with Peterson and the feds to let them have the space by renting it out.

According to Lip, it was smaller than the house on Wallace, so it was rather cramped. This was because the feds' plan was for four of them to live in the lower and three in the upper, but nobody had wanted to share the upper with Frank and would rather deal with being cramped. It _had_ been Fiona, Lip, Debbie, Frannie and Liam all living in the lower space while Ian was in jail, but to avoid having yet another person there, Ian agreed to live at Mickey's. Depending on how long Frank was absent, a few of them could take over upstairs. If Frank came back, too bad.

As their car was driving over the Skyway, an aerial thruway system that passed over the heart of the downtown city of Buffalo, Ian could smell something sweet wafting in through the open window of the car. He took a deep sniff.

"What's that? It smells like someone's either making or cooking something with a lot of sugar," Ian inquired.

"It's cereal from a General Mills plant. It's a running joke around here that the city smells like Cheerios, because they make a fuck ton of cereal in that building right there," Fiona said, pointing.

Lip nodded and laughed in amusement. "Yep. Our city smells like Cheerios. It's ours, now."

"That's fucking hilarious," Ian said, chortling. "When do we get to try the Buffalo wings? We've been fucking talking about it since almost as soon as we were talking about coming to live here."

"You gotta try Duff's," Lip answered. "There's a huge fucking feud between Duff's and Anchor Bar, since those are two of the biggest restaurants in the area that make some of the best and most well-known wings. Anchor Bar is the one most people who are from out of town know about - because they came first and advertise themselves as the original home of the Buffalo wing. So it's got more of a touristy vibe. Duff's came later, but more of the locals seem to go there versus Anchor Bar. Both are pretty good, but I liked Duff’s better."

"The wings are bigger and juicier at Anchor Bar and aren't as spicy, so I like them better," Liam said.

"When President Obama came to Buffalo in 2010, he went to Duff's, not Anchor Bar," Lip retorted. "And _Food Wars_ did a segment on Buffalo wings - they ended up voting for Duff's and not their 'original' home."

"And don't call them 'Buffalo wings,'" Liam answered back. "People in Chicago did and you always hear them say it on TV and stuff, but nobody _here_ in Buffalo calls them that. You'll get us made fun of, and I don't want that."

Lip chuckled as he realized his error, and that he'd been corrected by a 10-year-old. He conceded, "I stand corrected, little man. But all that will tell people is we aren't from these parts, and we really aren't.”

"Do we really need to watch the whole semantics of being local versus not while we're here?" Ian asked. "I mean, everybody here already thinks we're from Ohio, so it's not like we have to act like we're really from the area."

"True," Fiona said. "But we figure the less attention we draw to ourselves, the better. If people ask where we're from, we say Akron, Ohio, but let's not actually _invite_ the questioning. You never know when you might run across somebody who's really from there, and then we blow our cover by fucking up something they'd know is wrong."

"Ah, we're almost there," Debbie said. "Turn right here," she said, looking at the GPS on her phone and alerting Lip so he didn't get too distracted and miss it while they were talking.

They drove for a bit longer before arriving on a narrow section of streets in the heart of the city. It was an attractive, quaint-looking area that had a lot of small shops, like a small village versus a big urban center. As Ian had been told, there weren't a lot of large businesses in this neighborhood, and the nearest supermarket was a co-op.

A few people were walking around listening to headphones, a coffee shop was on the corner, and some cyclists brisked by on a bike path set aside on the side of the road. It did give off a bit of a hipster vibe, but the change of scenery was better than getting shanked by cartel dudes, he supposed.

"So, this is our new home?" Ian asked. "Kind of looks like hipster central."

Lip sighed. "Yeah, honestly, it does a bit. But some of the shops actually aren't too bad. It's a lot of tattoo places and restaurants. You were talking about how you and Mickey still had to do a dinner date. Go to Anchor Bar or Duff's and make it official.”

“Yeah?” Ian said.

“Yeah. It’d be fun. Look up shit online about both places and pick the one you want, since it'll be fun for you guys. Since you told us you were planning to go on a date to Sizzler with Mickey, but it never happened."

"Did I ever end up telling you that? That happened right before fucking Sammi came and tried to fuck with Mickey," Ian said, confused.

"Dude. You talked about it non-stop when we were in the motels and shit," Debbie shot back.

Just then, they pulled into a narrow driveway off of Elmwood Avenue. Ian looked at the house. It was unassuming, painted white with grey shingles and awning. Ian supposed that this was best considering they were in witness protection, and they didn't need a big, gaudy place for that.

As they got out of the car, Lip popped the trunk so they could start getting the small amount of stuff Ian carried out of the prison with him out of the car. Mickey and Mandy had taken the chest of sex toys and packed it into their car, so at least they didn't have to deal with that. It didn't save him from the chirps, though.

"So...what was actually in that chest they lugged out for you and Mickey?" Debbie asked. "They don't allow inmates to have that much with them...don’t tell me it was drug money."

"Of course not. It was...a little gift that Mickey was able to twist the feds' arms into giving us," Ian said sheepishly. He lowered his voice. "In order for him to testify for the feds and cooperate with their investigation of the cartel, Mickey convinced them to get us a big chest of sex toys. That's what's in the box. They let us leave the prison with them, since they were obviously just gonna get thrown out otherwise."

Debbie burst out laughing, causing Lip and Fiona to stare at them. "What?"

"Nothing," the gingers answered.

 

* * *

 

After they'd gotten settled in, Ian didn't feel like unpacking anything. All he wanted to do was see Mickey, so he took out his phone, followed the GPS and walked several blocks from his family's house to Mickey's. It wasn't a long walk and it was warm outside, so he at least felt comfortable knowing he could come back and see his family whenever he wanted - less so once all of his stuff was moved into his fiance's place.

Once he'd arrived at the house, Ian knocked on the door. Unsurprisingly, he heard a racket and stomping of feet down the stairs before his fiance opened it and grabbed him around the waist in a forceful bear hug.

Once they were inside, he was very close to tearing Mickey's clothes off and just doing him on the sofa, when they heard the sound of a man clearing his throat directly behind them. They both jumped and pulled away, bright red.

"Dude, could you save the fucking until I leave?" a familiar voice complained. "I mean, I have no issue with my brother and his fiancé being gay, but that don’t mean I want to see Mick's bare ass. Or yours, either. Or anything going in or coming outta either one of them. Although I already fucking know it's Mick who takes it, which I'll never stop giving you shit for, little bro.”

Ian jumped up, ran to Iggy and gave him a hug, which the latter returned reluctantly. The tall blond looked much the same as he had the last time Ian had seen him several years ago, with the same scruffy beard, although his hairline had begun to recede.

"Save the bullshit. I'm glad to see you and all, but I ain't that stupid and I know it's Mick you really wanna see," Iggy chirped. "Joey's already down at the auto body shop, so I gotta go, too. Maybe get to fuck Cat on our break since we actually did it last time in the manager's office. Shit was fucking funny. She’s gotta keep it down since she ain’t quiet when we do it at home. Not sorry about that, assholes.”

Ian snickered as Mickey shot Iggy the finger, which the elder brother returned twofold. He cackled at them and then left, letting the apartment door slam behind him as he started downstairs and out the front.

The redhead looked over at Mickey, who looked pissed that Iggy had interrupted them, but Ian glanced down to see that his fiancé’s cock was tenting out his jeans. Ian smirked and he felt his heart pounding faster in anticipation.

”Fucking kiss me already, Ian,” Mickey said, voice thick with lust. “We’re home.”


	24. Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I am not affiliated with the companies that make the toys that are discussed in this story, nor am I paid to advertise their products.
> 
> In each case where a specific toy is mentioned and the boys end up using it, I've added a hyperlink to the name so you can see a picture.

_We’re home._

_Mickey’s words could not have been truer,_ Ian thought to himself, because if home was having the sexiest, hottest man he’d ever seen, conveniently with the best ass he’d ever seen or had the pleasure of fucking, then fucking Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_ knew what the fuck she was talking about.

Ian positioned himself above Mickey on the living room couch, making out with his fiancé passionately. Ian deepened it further, and the redhead felt his cock straining in his jeans as they grew more uncomfortable by the minute. At times like this, he (almost) wished he had a smaller dick because it might make the moments like this more bearable.

 _Almost_ , except Mickey would shoot him if he ever said that out loud. He knew how Mickey loved his huge cock, if the sounds the brunet made every time they fucked and Mickey had it inside of him, hitting every pleasurable spot, were any indication.

“Mmm,” Mickey moaned as Ian pulled away. “I think we fucking got some shit we gotta use if we want to make the most of me making that deal with the feds to get the toys in that chest. I say we use some of ‘em now.”

Ian grinned. “Yeah? What do you want to use? We got so much that we can pick from thanks to you.”

”Good point.” Ian could almost hear the gears grinding and whirring inside of the brunet’s skull. To be fair, this wasn’t exactly an easy task, given how many lovely-looking things his fiancé had picked out for them using a tablet - one that DID have Internet access - with a laptop Peterson gave him when he was in the U Chicago hospital. “Let’s take a look through the stuff again.”

The brunet got up and searched for the key to the box, cursing when he couldn’t find it, before remembering he’d stuffed it in the small bag he used to carry his meager belongings Mandy had gathered for him out of the prison.

He shuffled over to where he'd dumped the heavy box in the corner of the room, and Ian got up off the couch to help take this into the bedroom and dig into the rest of the goodies they hadn't yet used.

"I still say we fucking use the Fleshlight," Mickey said. "Still haven't. Could be foreplay to warm me up before you get in me. Don't necessarily have to use it while we're fucking, although that'd feel real good."

"Why not both?" Ian said with a devilish smirk that normally would look more at home on Mickey's face than on his own. Mickey's eyebrows escalated into his hairline until he grinned like the Joker.

"I like what goes through that red-headed noggin of yours," Mickey smirked. "You're a crazy-ass motherfucker, but they do say shit about sticking your dick in crazy. Or letting crazy stick its dick into you. Wait a fucking minute, does that make me the crazy one or you?” 

Ian leaned over to plant a kiss on Mickey's lips, silencing this ridiculous discussion before it gave them even bluer balls than they already had.

"Shut the fuck up and let's do it. In the bed Mandy and your brothers made for us. Probably just Mandy. But shut the fuck up instead of making me listen to you argue over semantics."

"Argue over what?" the brunet asked, confused.

"Exactly." Ian took the key from Mickey and turned it in the lock. He dug in the box until he found what they were looking for.

The packaging, which Mickey had already ripped open from just before Cassidy had interrupted them to tell them they'd be getting out of prison early, identified it as a ["Fleshlight Go Torque"](https://www.fleshlight.com/products/go-torque-ice).

It _was_ shaped like a big, tall flashlight, although the sheer size and the fact that it was clear and not black was a giveaway. Not that Ian cared much, but he was fairly sure Mickey would die of embarrassment if he came home from a day with Ian and Iggy was waving this in their face and taunting them for having one. Mickey'd come out of his shell, but not THAT far.

"This looks really fun," the redhead continued. He examined how the narrow end of the toy unscrewed. "What does this do?"

"The end cap tightens or loosens to control how much suction it gives on your dick," Mickey, who was nothing if not concise, said. "And this shit comes out so that you can clean it after," he added, referring to the soft rubber sleeve. He poked at the insides with his fingers, feeling the nubby texture that was supposed to add stimulation.

"So? Let's shut the fuck up and _USE_ it," Ian said.

He took one of the sample packets of lube from inside the chest and maneuvered Mickey over to the bed, grabbing his shoulders. They resumed their make-out session from the other room, their tongues finding each other and Ian sucking on Mickey's until the smaller man couldn't stand it any more.

"Fuck," Mickey said, panting. "You gotta use this on me now, Gallagher. Fucking hell."

In between, Ian's hands urgently went down to the fly of Mickey's jeans, and he pulled them off along with his boxers, freeing Mickey's hard cock, as Mickey tore at his shirt until he'd nearly ripped one of the seams. Tearing the lube packet open with his teeth, Ian prepared to lube up the toy and the head of Mickey's dick.

"Don't put too much on or else I won't be able to feel this shit at all," Mickey said.

"Shut the fuck up." Ian silenced him with another passionate kiss. "And lie back and let me give you the pleasure you deserve. I want to make you feel so good. Now lie back and _shut the fuck up_.

Mickey was impressed by Ian's show of dominance, which rarely came out but was sexy as fuck when it did. Without another word, he obeyed, his cock bouncing a bit as he settled into position.

Ian took the open lube packet and put a small drop of it on Mickey. He slicked the inside of the toy as well before starting to put it over his partner. He’d gotten only as far as the tip of his head before his partner let out a scream.

“Fuck, that’s cold!” Mickey exclaimed. “Fuck! Go run that thing under warm water before you use it on me or it’s gonna feel like I’m fucking an igloo. Jesus Christ.”

Ian sighed before getting up to go to the bathroom, a small one but not so small that it was cramped, and ran the water. He made sure to get it inside the crevices of the toy and dry it off before coming back into the bedroom. On his way in, he grabbed their already-open bottle of lube and used it to re-lube the toy.

Ian walked over to the bed and got back onto it, hovering between Mickey’s slightly-spread legs. He stretched the hole in the toy a little with his fingers before lowering it over Mickey’s cock. Mickey groaned as the flesh-like rubber material surrounded his cockhead before swallowing the shaft. His eyes rolled back into his head and a whine escaped his throat.

“Fuuuuck. That feels good,” Mickey whined. He panted as Ian lifted the toy off a bit before sinking it back down until Mickey’s whole cock was inside and his balls were resting against the plastic casing. “So much better than just using your hand and jerking it.”

“What does it feel like?” Ian asked, intrigued. Maybe once they were both working, and probably taking on weird hours, he might use it himself - which would be more likely if Mickey got that job at Mandy’s work and the feds took longer to help Ian find something.

“Kind of like a blowjob, but not. Tighter, but doesn’t feel as tight as sex either. I can feel the fucking bumps and shit, and it’s like they’re massaging my dick,” he moaned. “Fuck. And it’s warm from the water you ran it under.”

”Mmm,” Ian purred. “Want me to start working your hole open, too, so I can fuck you while you fuck that?”

Mickey sputtered. “Why you gotta ask stupid-ass questions? No, I don’t want you to fuck me ever again, you weirdo...yes, I want you to fuck me with that big fucking cock!”

“Sarcastic smartass,” Ian snickered, leaning in toward Mickey. The redhead grabbed the bottle of lube, slicked two of his fingers and began running his index finger along the furled pink flesh at the entrance of Mickey’s hole, followed by his middle finger as he scissored them.

Mickey, already breathing heavily from the stimulation he was giving himself with the toy, let out an even louder moan upon feeling Ian’s fingers poking at his entrance, then sliding in. It felt almost as good as sex, at least as far as Ian could tell from Mickey’s reactions.

When Mickey’s breathing started to speed up more and turn into the little noises that meant he was close to his orgasm, Ian removed his fingers and Mickey just stared balefully. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey muttered once he had regained his composure.

”That’s my intention,” Ian shot back. “I’d like to try using that Fleshlight later, because it looked really fun for you. But let’s see what else is in here.” He walked back to the box, located the several more packets of lube still in the bottom, and closed his fingers on one. _Strawberry_ , Ian recalled from earlier.

”Mmm, Mick? It’s not that you don’t fucking taste delicious as it is, but I figure that this could spice it up a little the next time I rim you, just like last time we used it when I put it everywhere else on you,” Ian said.

“That does sound good, but there’s something else I want you to do to me...” Mickey said, a hint of blush forming on his cheeks. The brunet let his voice trail off.

“Oh?” Ian was intrigued. Slyly, he pushed Mickey a bit, wanting to tease him for being embarrassed, but not do so much that it killed the mood for both of them. “I know you want something, so tell me what it is. You better ask me for it, or I won’t do it.”

Mickey’s face flushed even redder, shame evident on his pale visage that made it stand out even more clearly. “I...want to use one of the dildos on me while you fuck me at the same time.”

”You mean double penetration? You want me to fuck your hole with one of those toys while my cock is inside you? Not sure if it’ll fit...” Ian trailed off. “You’re so tight and that’ll stretch you out a lot...”

”Not permanently, you ass,” Mickey shot back. “I dunno, I just wanted to see what it felt like. Not that your cock isn’t enough, I just wanted to know what it feels like. We ain’t gonna have a fucking threesome because the thought of sharing you with some other dude makes me wanna smash his face in - so don’t even ask - but I figure this is the closest thing.”

Ian took a minute to digest this information, then nodded slowly. “Okay...I just don’t want to hurt you. You wanna be on top so you can control it while you ride me? And I’ll work the dildo into you while you face me?”

Mickey nodded, his blue eyes lustful with a shade of apprehension. “Yeah. I’ll let you know if it hurts, or I’ll just pull the dildo out and business as usual.”

”Sounds good,” Ian said. “I trust you know your own body.”

”Good. Now get over on the bed so that I get one of the dildos ready and you can get on me - or I can get on you.”

Ian, turned on by Mickey’s assertiveness in the bedroom as usual in spite of being an unabashedly enthusiastic bottom, felt his cock growing harder in spite of lack of attention from the talking.

Ian grabbed a slim purple dildo from the chest. He slicked it with lube, intending to use it to prep Mickey for taking both it and Ian at the same time, although Ian had used his fingers earlier. Ian was still concerned about hurting him.

”Lie back on the bed,” Ian told his smaller partner. “I want to make you feel so good for me. Can’t wait to see you stretched so full and hear the sounds you make from how good it feels.”

Mickey’s breath hitched. He obeyed, lying on his back with his legs spread for Ian. Ian maneuvered himself between the pale thighs and inserted the tip of the silicone toy inside Mickey’s already-lubed hole. Mickey moaned.

”Mmm, that feels good,” Mickey purred. “It’s kinda thin, though, doesn’t stretch me out like your dick does.” He rocked his hips up into Ian’s thrust with the toy, glad for the stimulation of something inside of him, in spite of how good the Fleshlight had felt on his dick. He was a bottom, after all.

”You’re gonna be singing a different tune when my dick is inside you along with that,” Ian said with a smirk. He grabbed a towel and set the dildo onto the bed on top of it. “Here, lemme lie down where you are and we can switch.”

Wordlessly, Mickey obeyed. He climbed on top of Ian, gazing lustfully at Ian’s rock-hard cock before positioning his hips over the redhead’s. Both men let out moans as Mickey sank down until his ass had engulfed Ian’s cock up to the nest of red hair at its base. Nothing could be more perfect, Ian thought. This feels so fucking good. So tight.

Once his body had adjusted fully, Mickey began to ride Ian, strong thighs pumping up and down. Ian wanted to make this last as long as possible until he’d gotten to what Mickey had asked for, so he grabbed Mickey by the hips and coaxed him to slow down so that he could begin prepping him for the dildo.

”You gotta slow this down or I’m gonna end this way too soon,” Ian said through gritted teeth.

”Lemme lean toward and raise my hips a little - so you can start stretching me to take the toy, too,” Mickey said. “Or I can just use my fingers.”

Mickey leaned forward all the way so that his chest was flush against Ian’s. With his hips raised and Ian’s cock still inside him, Mickey took the bottle of lube, slicked his fingers and inserted his index finger inside himself, feeling Ian’s cock in between his own internal walls. Gingerly, he squeezed in his middle finger as well to rest alongside it.

”Fuck!” Mickey said, his voice sounding more like a squeal than its usual harsh demeanor.”

”Are you okay?” Ian asked, his brow wrinkled in concern in spite of the intense pleasure this was giving him. He could feel Mickey’s tattooed fingers alongside his cock, a sensation he had not yet experienced before, but not an unwelcome one by any means. It felt like Mickey’s two fingers were stroking his cock while inside himself.

Ian gingerly moved his hands from Mickey’s hips to where they were connected, and ran his finger along  the outside of Mickey’s stretched rim. He paused for a second to see if Mickey would flinch. He did not. Ian marveled at how Mickey’s hole was stretched seemingly as far as it could go, and the toy was about as wide as two of Mickey’s fingers, so he was likely set.

”You ready for the toy?” Ian said. “Want to feel two cocks inside you?”

Mickey let out a very un-Milkovich like keen. “Yes. Fuck yes. Stick it in me now so I can feel it with your cock. I want it.”

Mickey removed his fingers and went back to bouncing on Ian’s cock while the redhead, his breathing hitching, lubed up the toy to replenish the layer that had dried on the soft silicone. Ian positioned the tip of the toy alongside his shaft that was already inside Mickey.

As the tip penetrated the smaller man, he let out a whine that turned into soft cursine, sounding like was straining to take it. “You good?” Ian asked.

Mickey didn’t answer at first. His curse words turned into harsh pants, until he answered. “Yeah. Holy fucking shit. This is intense. So fucking full. It’s stretching me so much. Holy fuck.”

Amused by Mickey’s inability to form coherent sentences of any significant length or complexity, Ian began thrusting into Mickey, his dick being squeezed by the dildo next to him. They found a rhythm where Mickey pushed the dildo in as Ian pulled out. Although no one had touched it yet, Mickey’s cock was hard, angry red, leaking copiously onto Ian’s chest and his own thighs.

”Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” Ian warned Mickey. “Slow down unless you want me to come quickly.”

”I don’t care,” Mickey said. “I’m about to shoot, too. Fuck me harder.” He gasped at the fullness that was putting constant pressure on his prostate. “Holy fucking shit, this is good. Ohhh...fuck!!!”

Completely untouched, Mickey’s cock started erupting long streams of fluid onto Ian’s stomach and chest, his legs and the bedsheets. Ian cursed as he felt Mickey’s hole tighten up with the convulsions of his orgasm. “Fuck...I’m gonna come, too,” Ian moaned.

With that, Ian shot his load inside Mickey, his thick cum running down next to the dildo still inside Mickey with the redhead’s cock. The mess, courtesy of gravity, pooled out from inside Mickey and landed back onto Ian.

Mickey, panting and letting his breathing slow, pulled the dildo out. He chuckled, exhausted.

”Looks like we fucking broke in the new bed with our new toys.”


	25. Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duff’s is a real place, as are the T-shirts mentioned in the story. I do not own or work for them, nor am I affiliated with them in any way.
> 
> http://www.duffswings.com/

Ian and Mickey lay in bed, exhausted, postponing the inevitable march to the bathroom and cleanup that came after a good fuck. Ian realized they hadn’t actually unpacked any of their stuff yet, nor had they taken the time to check out the amenities their new house had to offer.

“We gotta start unpacking our shit. And we should grab lunch as soon as we can. I’m starving,” Ian said. Mickey grunted in approval.

“Where you wanna go?” Mickey asked. “We don’t got a car because Mandy’s got it. Guess she didn’t want to hear us fucking. Besides that, I don’t know where the fuck she is - I ain’t her keeper.”

Ian figured since Mandy worked nights at the club, she was probably over at Lip’s house, visiting him. He knew Iggy and Joey were at work, so he and Mickey had more time to fool around in this house. Still, they’d just gotten out of prison and Ian wanted to see the sights and sounds of the city, now that they weren’t hiding. He never saw Washington, D.C. at all save the briefing center, so he had a lot of ground to make up.

“I wonder if the feds will be able to get us a new car, or we’ll have to just deal with all sharing one,” Ian said. “Not that we weren’t used to either dealing with it back home, but we can’t exactly be stealing cars here to use. This isn’t home, and Debbie told me the subway system here isn’t the greatest. It runs from one suburb into the city and only goes in a straight line.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said. “Actually makes me miss the fucking L train from back home. Never thought I’d say that. Where the fuck is Mandy?”

“Probably visiting Lip unless he’s also at work,” Ian said. “I’ll give Lip a text and see if either he or Mandy can come pick us up. Where do you want to go?”

“I wouldn’t mind a nice steak dinner later,” Mickey said. “Gives my sister enough time to do shit I don’t want to think about with your brother. Fuck if I even want to _talk_ about that.”

Something dawned on Ian. “Hey,” he told Mickey. “We never had our date at Sizzler, so we still have to do that. Let’s grab some lunch now, at someplace around here, and then make a date later. We can walk someplace closer to here for lunch, and have Mandy take us to dinner - and maybe Lip can pick us up.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, noticing on his phone that it was only 2 p.m. He texted Lip, asking if either he or Mandy would be available at 6 p.m. to take himself and Mickey to dinner. He received a text back in the affirmative, noting that Mandy could take them, and Lip could pick them up when they were ready to come back here.

After some debate - with Ian wanting to try some wings at Duff’s and Mickey still insistent on wanting steak - they decided they’d get wings today and go to a steakhouse another day, since Ian wanted to taste some local flavor.

As they walked out of the house, holding hands, Ian noticed signs for community events, rather like something that he used to get involved with back in Chicago before he went off the rails with his social activism and landed in jail. There were a lot of tattoo and piercing places as well.

“Hey,” Ian said. “We should go into one of these places and see if I can get my fucking Monica tits tattoo fixed. Or covered up.”

“Sure thing,” Mickey said. “I remember the days when I got these back in Iggy’s friend’s fucking basement,” he said, looking fondly at his tattooed knuckles. “And then I fucking did this myself in prison - which still hurt like a fucking bitch - and got this shit when I was in Mexico.” He gestured to his chest and his forearm.

“You know what?” Ian said. He lowered his voice. “As much as you want my name on your chest, you gotta cover that up. Legally, that’s not my name and defeats the whole purpose of going into witness protection. And what about “Lado Sur Siempre” on your arm? It’s ‘South Side Forever’ in Spanish and kind of a giveaway.”

Mickey sighed. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right. But I wanna keep the one on my arm because that’s the only one I went to an actual tattoo shop to get, and it looks good.”

Ian snorted. “Going to an artist in a shop doesn’t even guarantee you’ll get good ink. I got butchered by a dude working in one with these fucking tits, after all. I say you keep the Grim Reaper with the Spanish writing, and come up with some excuse or wear long sleeves all the time. But ixnay on my ame-nay, for fuck’s sake.”

“What the fuck?” Mickey, not versed in Pig Latin, looked at Ian like he had two heads.

“Get rid of my fucking name!” Ian hissed. He stopped walking and looked to make sure nobody was paying attention. “Lip gave me money to fuck around with. I can put down a deposit, since they’re gonna ask for one if I make an appointment at one of these shops along the way.”

“Mandy gave me money, too,” Mickey said. “I can see about getting your name covered up. But I want something else that represents you, man. For fucking us. You and me.”

“Take some time to think about it,” Ian advised. “You don’t want to rush into anything else and you need to give it thought. At least I can explain my Army tattoo because according to my backstory, I was training to be a medic.”

By this point, they had reached what looked like a large, open storefront that advertised piercings and tattoos. Through the window, Ian could see shelves of jewelry, which gave him an idea. He could get a piercing since the idea had appealed to him - he’d seen enough nose and nipple piercings while working at the club years ago. He wanted one of his own.

But as tempting as it was, they had to eat first, so they stopped at a taco joint to grab a bite. As they chewed, Ian and Mickey discussed the merits of different types of piercings, and Ian had floated the idea of a tongue piercing past Mickey. He seemed interested and turned on by the idea.

Once they’d finished eating, they headed back to the storefront they’d seen earlier. As they entered the shop, a woman with dark hair, and a bright red streak in it, greeted them kindly.

“Good afternoon, boys,” she said cheerfully. “What can we do for you today?”

Ian took a second to look around. “Mind if I check out some of your piercing jewelry? We just moved here from out of town, and I’m thinking I want to get something that’s noticeable, but not to the point of being too obvious. On the hunt for a new job. I don’t think they’d like that.”

The woman reached behind the counter and handed Ian a catalogue. “Take a look at this and some of our jewelry we have,” she said. “Is there anything else I can answer if you have any questions? This is your first piercing?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “I also have a tattoo I’d like to get covered up, if any of your artists are in. I got it done back home, and the guy I went to totally didn’t listen at all and gave me something I didn’t want. The opposite, actually.”

“Wow, that sucks,” the woman said. “I’m Brandy, by the way. Mike and Stephanie are in today. Here’s another catalogue of all of their work, and you can look at designs they’ve done. I’m sure they could listen to you and come up with a cover-up design you’d really like this time.

Ian stood at the counter for a bit, looking at the different varieties of piercings he could choose from. Just then, Mickey poked him.

“Part of me still thinks it’d be real hot if you got your dick pierced,” Mickey said, not quietly enough for Brandy to not hear them. Mickey’s voice was never quiet.

“You guys are a couple?” she asked. “We could certainly do a genital piercing on either one of you. I’ve had clients say that they really enjoyed theirs and it made sex feel better.”

“Maybe,” Ian said. “I’d actually like the idea once it’s healed - save the sticking a needle in my dick part - but how long would it take?”

“That’s the thing. No sexual contact of any kind until it is healed, which could take six weeks. No oral sex, intercourse, masturbation or anything else until it’s healed.” She smiled apologetically at the horrified look on their faces. “Sorry, guys. It’s gotta heal and not get infected.”

“I think we’ll pass,” Ian said, with some measure of regret. He wished the healing wouldn’t take so long, or he’d go ahead and do it. “Unless you really want me to get it, Mick? I could maybe deal with it. Might make it interesting.”

“Would I find it really fucking hot? Yeah, I would. But I ain’t gonna go for six weeks without your dick,” Mickey said. “Same thing with a tongue ring. I don’t want to go that long without being able to do anything with your mouth.”

Ian’s mind was made up, and he didn’t particularly like the idea of having to go without sex for that long - although quietly, the idea of having a ring through his dick wasn’t wholly unappealing to him. He’d still have to think about it more, but he didn’t want to disregard Mickey’s feelings.

He flipped through the pages until he got to one with a photo of an ear with a long bar going through the cartilage, horizontally across the top. “I think I’m going to go with something like this. It looks interesting,” Ian said.

“That’s called an industrial piercing,” Brandy said. “Good thing you don’t have long hair, because they can be really picky and cranky if you hit them or sleep on them. They also take a really long time to heal. But if that’s what you want, we can set you up with Kelly. I’ll give you paperwork to fill out, and I need to see your ID, please.”

Ian filled out the paperwork, and Brandy made a photocopy of Ian’s license. He realized it was the first time he had ever used a license that was both fake and a legitimate, government-issued ID, unlike the time he had the fake one with Lip’s picture and birthdate. Ian smiled, realizing he’d just have to get used to this sort of thing.

“You still want to talk to Mike or Stephanie about getting a coverup?” Brandy asked.

“You know what? I’ll be back,” Ian said. “I’m a little short on cash at the moment. But I definitely want to get this ugly shit covered up.”

Several minutes after Ian had completed the paperwork and Brandy processed it, a woman with light brown hair and several facial piercings, including two hoops close together on one side of her lip, came out to greet him.

“Hi, I’m Kelly. You’ll be getting an industrial today?” she asked. Ian nodded.

“Okay, follow me this way.” She led Ian, with Mickey trailing behind, into one of the back rooms. Ian gulped, feeling a sense of dread since the room looked like a doctor’s office, which he didn’t like. Kelly picked up on Ian’s emotions and did her best to make Ian feel comfortable. She asked Ian to hop onto the chair, which also looked more like it belonged in a doctor’s office.

“Brandy told me this is your first piercing, so I’m going to walk you through the steps so that you know what to expect and you aren’t afraid. First, I’m going to just clean your ear and mark it.” She smiled as Ian flinched as she came at him with a swab and marker. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pierce you yet. I’m just marking your ear so you can check it before I do it.”

Kelly marked Ian’s ear with two black dots and a line where the piercing would go. She instructed Ian to hop down and check the placement of the markings. They seemed okay, Ian thought, but he was nervous about how much this would hurt, as well as his surroundings.

“I’m...I’m not sure what I should be looking at, and if it’s okay with the positioning,” Ian said. “But it looks good to me, with what little I know about it and piercing in general.”

Kelly chuckled. “It’s okay. Everyone has to start somewhere,” she said. “Let me measure your ear so that we can get the correct-sized barbell. It’s going to be a bit long to account for swelling, so come in in a few months once it’s healed a little and we can change it.”

Once that was done, Kelly came back with a metal bar in a plastic baggie. She put on gloves and explained to Ian how all of the materials that would be touching his skin were fully sterilized and the jewelry had been run through an autoclave. She told Ian to lie back on the chair and get comfortable. As he did so, a feeling of dread ran through Ian in spite of the fact he already had tattoos, and he didn’t really want to see the hollow piercing needle she’d be using.

The piercing didn’t hurt as badly as Ian had feared it might, although the second hole hurt worse than the first. Once the initial stabbing pain of the needle stopped, it started to throb. Ian felt some slight pressure as Kelly put the jewelry through the needle, then removed the latter.

“All done,” Kelly said. “I’ll give you a little bottle of soap to clean it with. Don’t touch it unless you’ve washed your hands, and only do that to clean it in the shower. It looks great.”

Ian gave Kelly a weak smile, trying to ignore the throbbing. He followed her out to the counter to pay with some of the cash Lip had given him as spending money, giving her a generous tip. _He might be back_ , Ian thought, _if he could get Mickey on board with anything else._

 

* * *

 

As it neared 5 p.m., Ian took a shower in order to get ready for his date with Mickey. The latter had already done the same before Ian got in, not wanting to get hot and bothered and then have to sit in a restaurant for two hours.

After he carefully cleaned his piercing, doing his best to ignore the increasing throbbing, Mickey took another look at it, and his eyebrows made a beeline into his hairline.

“It adds character and looks real sexy. Not gonna lie, I’d love the idea of one of those through your tongue if it didn’t mean you couldn’t suck my dick or eat my ass for months,” the brunet said. “I’d barely even be able to kiss you.”

Ian chuckled. “Maybe at some point? I still kind of want one.”

Mickey made a non-committal noise. Just then, his phone buzzed with a text message that turned out to be from Mandy.

“‘Hurry up, assface,’” Mickey read. “‘I’m waiting and traffic is gonna be a bitch. Plus I have to work later and I can’t pick you up.’ Goddamn Mandy. She was over at your place, hanging around getting fucked, and she doesn’t even have to work ‘til 9. Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

Ian laughed as he and Mickey headed out the door. They opened the doors of Mandy’s car, Mickey taking shotgun, and settled in as Mandy punched her brother in the arm.

“Fuck you. You took too long on purpose,” Mandy complained. She looked back and gave Ian one of her enigmatic smiles. “Long time no see. Ignore this fucking asshole...also, Lip is gonna pick you guys up, because I gotta work.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said. “Know how to get to Duff’s from here? That’s where we decided to go for our first official date.”

Mandy pulled the address up on her phone GPS, and the car roared off in the direction of the locale of Ian and Mickey’s first official date. Ian couldn’t believe it’d taken them this long to actually do it, since circumstances always seemed to get in the way, but now it finally was happening. It seemed too good to even be true.

“Hope your dinner date goes better than the time last month when Iggy ordered chicken taco takeout,” Mandy lamented. “It must’ve gone bad, because all three of us got fucking food poisoning. We were all puking and shitting our guts out. It was just horrible. That’s the only time you guys can be glad you were both in the can.”

“Fuck,” Ian said. “You all okay now?”

“Yeah,” Mandy said. “We lived. Iggy was back to his normal self before the rest of us were, so we fucking hated him. I swear he’s fucking Deadpool with how fast he recovers from shit.”

“Nah. Deadpool’s actually smart,” Ian chortled.

 

* * *

 

Once Mandy pulled the car up to Duff’s, Ian and Mickey got out, taking in their first impressions of the place. The exterior was red and white, with the name of the restaurant in large red letters. They stepped inside, and brick walls greeted them on the interior of the building along with the bustling activity of the crowded eatery.

They walked up to the host. “Two, please,” Ian said, taking in their surroundings.

“Right this way,” the host, whose name tag read Daniel, said. He led them to a corner table next to the bar, handed them menus and left. They silently perused their choices for a minute before Mickey spoke up in his usual loud tone - which wasn’t so loud in the noisy restaurant.

“Ain’t a bad-looking place,” Mickey said. “A step above the shit we had back home that we could actually afford to go to. And nice warning about the hotness of the wings, too. They put it on the backs of the shirts for fuck’s sake.”

Sure enough, the backs of the servers’ shirts said:

_“WARNING!_

_-Medium is HOT._

_-Medium Hot is VERY HOT._

_-Hot is VERY, VERY HOT.“_

“The fuck does that make mild?” Mickey griped. “I can’t eat the really hot shit. You fucking know this, Ian. Food shouldn’t make your ass hurt the next day. Seriously...fucking hell.”

Ian thought to make the obvious sex-related joke, but didn’t have a chance to get it out before their server came to their table. Their server, whose tag read Helen, introduced herself and asked both men for their drink choices. Mickey ordered a Bud, while Ian got unsweetened iced tea.

As she turned to leave, Mickey blurted out, “You got any Buffalo wings here that ain’t gonna leave me with no taste buds?”

Helen stammered at first, taken aback by Mickey’s demeanor, which surely was off-putting for anyone who wasn’t accustomed to it. Ian noticed that she probably was tipped off that they were out-of-towners based on Mickey’s use of “Buffalo wings,” but since President Obama had been here on an occasion when he’d come to Buffalo, he figured she was used to tourists.

“I- I’d recommend the mild wings,” she eventually answered. “They’re not too bad. Once you get into medium and medium-hot is when they’ve got a pretty good kick to them.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. “By the way, I’m sorry about my fiancé...he can be kind of an asshole. We just moved here from out of town.”

Mickey kicked Ian under the table and glared. After Helen left, Ian leaned in to say what had been on his mind for the last two minutes.

“Never heard you complain about your ass burning after anything else we did together,” Ian snickered. “Anyway, just order the mild. I love hot shit and I’m gonna try the medium-hot.”

Mickey pouted. “Good thing we’re in public, or I would’ve kicked yours for that.”

“Try it, tough guy,” Ian shot back. “Want to order an appetizer when the server gets back?”

“Might be down for some pizza logs,” Mickey said. “Really gotta ask me that? See if they do them right, and they gotta be better than the old frozen pizza rolls I’d make at home.”

Ian chuckled. He should’ve known Mickey’s tastes by now, indeed. Mickey had agreed to come here even though he disliked spicy food, but Ian figured his fiancé liked seeing him happy. He was so lucky to be able to enjoy a night out like this, Ian thought. He surreptitiously stared at Mickey’s blue eyes as they scanned the menu.

“As much as I’m hungry for wings, you know there’s something else I want to eat when we get back home,” Ian leaned across the table and whispered. Mickey flushed.

“Don’t do that shit here,” Mickey hissed back. “I want to actually think about my fucking food and enjoy it instead of popping a boner.”

Once Helen arrived back at their table, Ian’s face apologetic while Mickey was obliviously still a smartass to her, they were able to order Mickey’s beloved pizza logs, which they planned to split between them. Mickey ordered mild wings, while Ian got the medium-hot, as planned.

As they sat and waited for their food, Ian and Mickey discussed where they might go for their steak once they’d gone on the agreed-upon second date so they could get their steaks that were still mooing.

They considered Outback or Longhorn since they knew those were in the area, since from there most places got considerably more expensive. They also weren’t yet sure what other local places were in Buffalo.

“Want to do anything else after we’re done here, or just have my brother pick us up?” Ian asked.

“Besides fuck? Nothing.” As always, Mickey was nothing if not direct.

As if right on cue, Helen returned with the pizza logs. The couple dug in, Mickey dipping one in a generous portion of sauce before shoving it into his mouth like a starving barbarian, then repeating it with the second. Amused, Ian considered that while you could take the man out of the South Side, the reverse wasn’t true.

“These are fucking delicious,” Mickey said. He let out a burp, and Ian cleared his throat to make it less obvious to others. “Glad we got ‘em, but I want to taste these chicken wings people were fucking raving about constantly.”

“You will get to do it soon,” Ian said. “You know what? I fucking love you and am actually glad we came here and got to have this night out. It was only, what, like six years in the making? That’s so ridiculous. Life shit on us so hard.”

“No fucking shit, Sherlock,” Mickey said as he grabbed another pizza log. He grabbed a stack of napkins and wiped his hands. “We were fucked for life, and then of all things the federal government stepped in to help shitlords like us.”

“Keep your voice down,” Ian hissed. “You can’t talk about shit like that in public.”

“They don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about,” Mickey protested before shutting up, and Ian prepared to change the subject when Helen returned with their plates of wings.

“The mild ones,” she said, placing that order in front of Mickey, “and medium-hot for you.” She presented Ian with his food.

As they dug in, Ian was blown away by how good the wings were, feeling they lived up to be hype. They were hot, but not so hot that they were intolerable and he couldn’t eat them. Mickey even enjoyed his plate of mild wings.

“This was a fucking great choice to come here,” Mickey said. “I’m still hankering for steak at some point, but I ain’t complaining about coming here for our first official date.”

They finished their meal mostly in silence, both of them marveling at how delicious their wing dinner was. When Helen came with their check, Mickey made a sarcastic comment about how they should put on the T-shirts that the mild ones are the ones that were actually edible for hot sauce pussies like himself.

Ian rolled his eyes. “So charming. How was the meal really?”

“Fucking awesome,” Mickey responded.

Knowing that “fucking awesome” was truly a high compliment coming from Mickey, Ian told the brunet, “You ought to tell our server that instead of being a sarcastic smartass to her.”

“Fuck you, too. When have I ever been any different? Not good at talking to people like you are, unless I want something out of ‘em, I guess. Some things never change.”

 _Some things never change,_ Ian thought, smiling. _But the things that do change, I’ll accept since I can go on more of these dates with Mickey now that we are engaged, and even more once we get married._ _There are some things I don’t ever want to change._


	26. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There are a few paragraphs that graphically discuss the events of S3E6, and basically consist of Mickey going on a screaming tirade and venting about how horrific and unjust it was that happened to him. I have added a trigger warning with markers in bold so it's easy to scroll past it...if it's easier, simply type "trigger warning" in the "find" function of your browser or smartphone and it should skip past it. I felt that it was important to include this, because Mickey never properly processed the trauma.
> 
> ABLEIST LANGUAGE: Iggy uses the R-word to insult Mickey, which is consistent with canon, but I do not condone the use of this word in real life.

A week later, Mickey received word that, since Mandy had put in a good word for him, he’d be starting work at the club where she worked. They were, conveniently enough, in need of another bouncer because of complaints from the dancers about creeps who had already gotten kicked out. The pervs were gone, but the owners wanted to be sure they stayed well and truly gone with some extra intimidation. Mickey fit the bill, especially since Mandy told them he was gay - like the two women who owned the place - and also thus not at risk of pulling shit with the girls.

To celebrate, Mickey and Ian decided to go on their second date at Outback Steakhouse, and Debbie gave them money from one of her welding gigs as a gift. They’d gotten a ride there from Mandy, who, to Ian’s chagrin, looked rather worse for wear, for not the first time in his recent memory. But he didn’t ask about it. Ian knew his best friend could handle herself.

When they were almost done with their food, both Ian and Mickey having ordered their steaks to their desired degrees of doneness (both of which were varying degrees of nearly still mooing), Ian got a text from Lip. He showed it to Mickey, who looked slightly concerned, but shrugged.

_Lip: Yo - I’m coming. Mandy’s at work, although I tried to tell her to stay home. She’s going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning_

“Mandy hasn’t been feeling good lately,” Ian said. “She mentioned they got sick last month from some shitty tacos. I hope it isn’t anything more serious than that, or we have bad food in the fridge she’s eating.”

“I know she hasn’t been feeling good. But she’ll deal,” Mickey insisted. “She’s Mandy.”

Once they paid their check and left a tip, Mickey and Ian went outside to see the car waiting for them, with Lip in the driver’s seat. Mickey barely grunted at Ian’s brother in acknowledgement, and Ian thought it best to say nothing.

On the way home, they drove in silence until Ian spoke up and addressed Lip, who’d been focused on the road with no music playing. “You keeping an eye on Mandy?” Ian said.

“Yeah. I made her go get looked at,” Lip said. “I was worried and told her she should go because it’s been a couple of weeks now.”

“She’s fine,” Mickey said. “Remember who you’re talking about, asshole. Don’t fucking force her to do shit she don’t want.” Ian elbowed Mickey with a silent-but-universal _behave yourself._

Ian, still not convinced, took out his phone and texted Mandy: _You gonna die on us, or you gonna be okay? Iggy and Joey okay?_

She texted back: _STFU asshole. Iggy and Joey are home, Cat too so you can meet her_

 _Cat_ , Ian thought, realizing he’d been living here for a week but hadn’t met Iggy’s girlfriend yet. Iggy was usually at her place versus theirs - _probably to avoid noise complaints here,_ Ian recalled. Not that Iggy really gave a shit, since Ian and Mickey were hardly quiet. Joey had given them plenty of shit for that, and Iggy, too, when he was around. All Ian knew was she was a mechanic and worked alongside both Iggy and Joey at the auto body shop.

_Debbie is going to get along with her, Ian thought. They can commiserate about the perils of all-male workplaces in their respective fields._

When Lip pulled into the driveway of the house alongside the downstairs tenants’ car, Ian noticed another car he had never seen before was parked in the street in front of their house. Lip waited until they got inside before pulling away, a much-needed habit left over from life on the South Side and giving his girlfriends rides.

They walked in to see Joey on the living room armchair, and Iggy and a short, stocky young woman with strawberry-blond hair on the couch, watching a rerun of _Aqua Teen Hunger Force_. Iggy had his arm around the blond woman, which was bizarre since Ian and Mickey had only known him to have one-night stands. According to Mandy, Iggy had been with Cat for almost a year, so Ian figured maybe she was the one.

“Hey! You must be Cat,” Ian said.

“Who the fuck else would I be?” came the tough, no-nonsense reply from the young woman. “‘Course I am. And you must be the annoying-ass little brother and his ginger boy toy.”

“Hey!” Mickey said. “Fuck you. Iggy let you suck his fucking dick with that mouth?”

“Speak for yourself, Mick. Nice kettle and pot, you fucking retard,” Iggy snorted. “Go in your room and suck Ian’s dick some more.”

Ian, shocked by Iggy’s girlfriend’s less-than-friendly greeting and less so by Iggy’s snarky response, prepared for a fight - but to his astonishment, Cat cracked a smile that spread across her lightly-freckled face.

“I can see we’re gonna get along well,” she told Mickey. “You’re just like fucking Iggy.”

Too stunned to comment further, Ian didn’t think to do anything other than laugh once it was clear that this awkward situation has been sufficiently diffused. Soon enough, Mickey and Cat joined him until they were both in hysterics.

“Yeah, I can see why you and Iggy are good for each other,” Ian eventually said.

“Yeah, I had to grow a thick skin,” Cat answered. “Irish-Catholic family of five siblings. My real name is Caitlin Sullivan. My parents were both horrified when I told them I’d turned into an atheist, so it’s shit city whenever I go back home. Glad I moved out as soon as I turned 18.”

“Yeah?” Ian said. “We’re from Akron, Ohio. Grew up in a really shitty part of the town and we had to hustle to make ends meet. Our dad was an absentee alcoholic. Mom was unmedicated and bipolar, never stuck around.”

“I’m from South Buffalo. Basically your typical working-class neighborhood ‘drinking city with a sports problem.’ You’d get along well there. Is that like what you guys came from at home?” Cat asked. “Iggy tells me some here and there. I can’t speak for the whole ‘parents not being around much’ thing, but in my case I really wished that mine were around way less.”

“I guess. We didn’t really care much about our ethnicity and shit, or any Irish pride parades with green fucking beer because we were too busy caring about where our next meal was gonna come from,” Mickey responded. “Besides, our mom was Russian, and she was the one who cared about her heritage. We didn’t grow up Irish at all because of that, and our asshole father was too busy being an abusive prick.”

Cat’s eyes got big, then relaxed in recognition. “Damn. That’s right. Yeah, Iggy and Joey were telling me you guys had it pretty rough. We got lucky in that sense, at least. Dad had a good-paying job before he retired a few years ago,” she commented. “Iggy’s been here for a while now, but why did the rest of you come here? It’s not exactly Beverly fucking Hills here, either.”

“Same reason Iggy did. We had to get away and start over,” Ian said. “Neighborhood we came from in Ohio was a lot worse than this, so compared to that, this might as well be Disney.”

Snorting, Cat said, “That must really have been a shithole. Jesus, I’m fucking sorry.” She unwrapped her arm from Iggy as he got up to grab some beer and snacks from the kitchen.

“We dealt with it,” Mickey said. “My dad was a fucking homophobic asshole and most of us moved out here to get away from that bullshit. Ian and his family kind of followed us.”

“Join the fucking club. I hated that ‘repent and your sins will be forgiven’ shit my dad and the rest of my family pushed,” Cat scoffed. “I hated they didn’t just accept people are what they are...fuck anyone who wants them to change. I only see my folks at Thanksgiving and Christmas nowadays. Way better that way, but at least my brothers are mostly all right.”

Ian was relieved Iggy seemed to be happy, and amused he basically found a female version of Mickey to date. He wasn’t sure what Iggy’s type was, but she seemed to be more a match for him than the women Ian would see in the house at home. Ian could see how straight guys might find her attractive.

Just then, Iggy came back into the room. He used his pocket knife to open a Bud and handed it to Mickey. While on his medication, Ian found he could drink about one beer without feeling sick or getting extremely drowsy from it, so he accepted one from Iggy. Ian figured now was as good a time as any for small talk with Cat.

“How did you end up becoming a mechanic?” Ian asked as Cat’s inquisitive hazel eyes focused on him from across the living room.

“Grew up with four older brothers, and all of them are good with their hands,” she said. “Ended up a tomboy when our mom wanted a fucking girly-girl. I wanted a career working with machines growing up, and didn’t just fucking do it to piss my folks off. That was just a bonus for me.”

“Yeah. Mandy was the same way with all of her brothers. The two oldest are in jail because they got mixed up in their dad’s stupid criminal shit,” Ian added. “But she knows all about what it’s like to be the only girl in a household of boys.”

Ian hadn’t actually expected to get along this well with Iggy’s girlfriend, and was relieved she wasn’t so bad after all. The five of them stayed up watching _Adult Swim_ and talking, then pulled up Netflix and decided on more movies before bed. After Joey, Iggy and Cat retreated to their bedrooms, Ian and Mickey fell asleep in their spot on the living room futon, Mickey first to doze off with his head on Ian’s lap. Just before joining him, Ian thought, _I really don’t mind having my own little family of choice together like this._

 

* * *

 

The feeling of mutual bliss lasted until the next morning turned into afternoon, since both Ian and Mickey opted to sleep in late since they didn’t have go to work yet, or have a job at all. By the time they’d both gotten up, Mandy was gone and Iggy, Cat and Joey were all at work.

By the time noon rolled around, Ian checked his phone and realized two things: how late it was, and that Mickey was gone. He vaguely wondered where he was, but figured he was at the co-op down the block, buying them food.

In addition to checking the time, Ian noticed he had three unread messages in a group text from Mandy and Mickey. Wondering why they were texting him now, Ian opened the messages, all of which were from about half an hour ago.

Mandy: _At the doctor’s. Fucking pregnant. Didn’t think of it since I’m sicker than last time - thought I ate something bad, don’t be pissed_

_Texted lip already. He wants me to keep it but I don’t know what I want. I’m so upset and afraid he’s gonna pressure me_

Mickey: _WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT MANDY WHAT THE FUCK OMG_

Ian gaped at the messages in shock. This was going to lead to more shit between Mickey and Lip, just when things were going well. Ian had to worry about finding a legal fucking job, and now this stupid drama to clean up. He planned to talk to Lip later and get a feel for how supportive he’d be of Mandy, but knew it was up to her.

“ _Goddamnit!_ ” Ian cursed loudly, to no one in particular in the empty apartment.

Ian’s phone chimed. He saw he had another incoming text message.

Lip: _Ian, get the fuck over to our house ASAP! Your fucking attack dog is here and he’s on the fucking warpath!!!!!!_ _  
_

Given the facts in evidence, that could mean only one thing. Ian’s stomach dropped.

_“Fuck!!!”_

Not even bothering to grab his phone on the way out, Ian raced down the street, hoping to get to the Gallivan house before any real damage happened. Mickey had come a long way in reeling in his temper, but this was far beyond the pale and Ian wasn’t much calmer about this.  
  
Once he got there, he frantically turned the key in the front door. To his dismay, Ian heard raised voices coming from the lower apartment as soon as he stepped into the landing.  
  
“Like fucking _hell!_ If you weren’t about to be my brother-in-law, I’d shove my foot up your ass for pulling this bullshit again, and as it is, I make no promises! Wait until Ian gets here!”  
  
Ian flung the door open. “ _Keep it the fuck down!_ We don’t need to have all the neighbors overhear our shit and I hope to fuck the windows are closed!” Trying to maintain his composure, Ian checked them. To his relief, they were shut. At least they had some sense, and thankfully none of his siblings were home, either.

Lip scoffed. “Look who’s fucking talking - the dude who wiped his ass with my little brother’s feelings until you ran him right outta town and into the Army. And now? You ruin the _rest_ of our lives because you got Ian mixed up in your fucked-up criminal shit! Fuck you! This situation is _ALL YOUR FAULT_ because you couldn’t keep my brother’s cock out of your ass long enough to-”  
  
Mickey cocked his fist and, without another word, punched Lip in the face as hard as he could.  
  
Staggering backward, the elder brother held his hands up to his bleeding mouth in a mix of pained, stunned disbelief. Ian wrestled his fiancé to the couch and held him by the shoulders.  
  
“Mickey! _What the fuck?!”_ Ian yelled. “Go the fuck home and let me handle this!”  
  
“No, Ian!” Mickey shot back. “I know this asshole‘s your brother, which, believe me, is why he’s still got as many teeth as he still does left in his head, but I’m gonna handle this how I should’ve fucking done it years ago. Don’t stop me!”  
  
Ian’s shoulders sagged in defeat, as Lip put down the tissues he’d grabbed to staunch his bleeding mouth. He spit out another wad of blood and assessed the Mickey damage with his fingers. Lip’s eyes widened in horror.  
  
_“Jesus fucking Christ!_ The fuck is wrong with you?” Lip spat, his voice thick with pain.  
  
“What the fuck is wrong with _me_ ? I’ll tell you what the fuck is wrong with _ME_ !” Mickey shouted. “ _YOU!YOU_ are what’s fucking wrong because all you do is hurt Mandy!”

“Lip! Mickey! Stop!” Ian begged. “Lip, I’m fucking sorry we had to move because of me. I know it sucks since, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m going through it right along with you. You don’t have to rub it in our faces - it sucks and we already fucking know! Jesus Christ! And Mick, go the fuck home before you get the cops called on us!”  
  
Mickey didn’t respond right away. He looked nothing short of homicidal as he prepared to continue ripping Lip a new asshole to go along with his newly-ruined mouth.  
  
“No! I’m staying right the fuck here!” Mickey snarled, flecks of spit flying from his mouth and face bright red. “You had that ass-whooping coming a long time ago, college boy, but you know why I didn’t? Because _Ian_ fucking told me not to! _Ian’s_ the only reason I left your fucking face intact after what you did to Mandy last time!”  
  
“Look who’s fucking talking! Your precious sister is no saint, either, because if you fucking remember, she ran over Karen Jackson with a car!” Lip shot back. “She tried to _murder_ another chick because she couldn’t fucking handle competition! Now Karen’s a vegetable. Forever!”  
  
Ian was furious at this slight against his best friend, his partner-in-crime who stood by him for so long, who was his beard as a closeted kid. Emotions clouding his judgment, Ian threw caution to the wind, volume control forgotten.  
  
“You _STUPID fucking asshole!_ Karen was a sociopathic bitch who was trying to baby trap you!” Ian bellowed, his face dangerously close to the same shade as his hair. “Mandy did you a huge fucking favor, and you pissed all over her just like you pissed on every other opportunity you were handed in life like a little _bitch!”_  
  
“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from somebody who thought he was the fucking Messiah! You pissed away your EMT gig the second you blew up that van and it went all over YouTube!” Lip said. “Even Frank isn’t dumb enough to commit arson in front of fuck-knows-how-many people with fucking smartphones to record the evidence!”  
  
“Fuck you! _FUCK YOU!_ You had _EVERYTHING_ I always wanted!” Ian seethed, words dripping with resentment. “My whole life, I tried so hard to measure up! Lip Gallagher’s dumber little brother, the forgotten middle child! The dorky redhead whose name none of our teachers remembered, so they called me by _yours_ since _mine_ wasn’t important enough to bother! I saw their disappointment when I didn’t get the good grades you did, and it hurt. West Point wanted _YOU_ , and oh, fuck me right in the ass!”  
  
Feeling a profound but gut-wrenching sense of relief, Ian went for the jugular. “And what did you do with that brain? You got kicked out of college after fucking Mandy’s head up so bad, she thought the only guy she deserved was a shithead who BEAT her into a pulp! And the only reason you got into Chicago Polytechnic was because of Mandy, you ungrateful stupid asshole!”  
  
Pacing back and forth, Mickey still looked very much like he was trying to keep himself from knocking out a few windows to go along with Lip’s bleeding mouth. He inhaled before exploding into a new, vicious tirade at Lip.

 

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNING** **: Graphic discussion of rape, incest and events of S3E6**

* * *

 

“You know why I care so much you’re pressuring Mandy to keep this kid? Because she’s family and I couldn’t save her from all of the other shit she’s been through! You know goddamn well that fundraiser you and Ian did to pay for her abortion is the only reason she ain’t a single mother right now. Because our own sick fucking father stuck his dick in her! And you _still_ don’t get it!”  
  
“I don’t know what Ian told you about why I got hitched to Svetlana and had Yev, but I didn’t fucking choose them! I was just a kid!” Mickey bellowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “My father was gonna kill me and Ian, so what do I get as a prize for saving your brother’s life? A wife and kid I never wanted in the first place! I didn’t want to be a father, but I had no fucking choice in the matter because the choice was STOLEN FROM ME! He fucking raped me! He used my body for his fucked-up games because he couldn’t accept I was fucking gay...and then I got stuck with a kid. You have any idea how long it TOOK before I could fucking look at that kid without thinking what my dad made me do?! Of course you fucking don’t, you piece of shit!!!”  
  
By now, tears were streaming down Ian’s face as well as Mickey’s. The latter’s words were so thick with emotion, they were almost unintelligible.

“So maybe that’s why I give a fucking shit, and why I’m not gonna let you shit on Mandy! If she wants us to, I’m gonna get Iggy, Joey, Colin and Jamie, drive to Planned Parenthood and help her get rid of it. And there’s ain’t a goddamned thing you can do about it, fuckhead!”

Sobbing, Mickey stormed across the licking room. “You coming with me, Ian?” the black-haired man spit venomously before slamming the door behind him on the way out.  
  
Ian yelled through it, “Mick! I’ll be there in a minute. Please don’t go! Wait for me!”

 

* * *

**END TRIGGER WARNING**

* * *

 

Ian glowered down at Lip, his larger frame towering over that of his brother. When he turned, Lip took a closer look at the side of Ian’s head. “When did you get your ear pierced?” Lip asked incredulously.

“A week ago, and don’t try and change the subject because it’s not gonna work.” When he started to talk, Ian’s tone came out so coldly that Lip shrunk back in spite of himself.  
  
“Lip, you’re my brother. But don’t make me pick between my brother, fiancé and future sister-in-law. I’m so fucking pissed at you right now and you really gotta give us space for a while. _ESPECIALLY_ Mandy. Mickey will rip you a new asshole - again - if you do, and this time I’ll be pleased as piss to help because I warned you. We’ll deal with Mandy. I’ll let you know what she decides. Goodbye.”  
  
“Ian!” Lip called as the door closed behind the redhead. Ian didn’t respond.  
  
Mickey was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the house, crying soundlessly and wiping at his eyes. The shorter man looked up at his fiancé as he approached, eyes a bright, wet red and body shaking in rage.  
  
“Mickey. I’m so fucking sorry,” Ian said, hugging the sobbing brunet as he cried. “I’m so sorry about my asshole brother and about everything. I love you so fucking much, and Mandy, too. I don’t know where I’d be without you, and I never want to let you forget that ever again.”

They walked silently, Ian’s arm still draped around Mickey’s shoulder. The shorter man was still silent aside from hiccuping, and Ian felt raw, with so many horrible memories of the trauma they’d been through, so many years ago, being brought to the forefront of his mind again.  
  
Once they arrived back at their own house, where Ian and the rest of the gang of former Milkoviches lived, Ian sat Mickey down on the couch and looked his fiancé in the eyes. Mickey sniffled, and Ian handed him a tissue while running a soothing hand across his back. Ian knew there was little he could say to comfort him.  
  
“Look at me, Mickey,” Ian said. “I fucking love you. You’re a beautiful person with the biggest heart of anyone I know. None of those pricks from home matter anymore. I’ll deal with Lip because I hate seeing you like this so much.”  
  
The teary blue eyes looked up at Ian. “Well, I fucking hate myself. I can’t get my shit together for you, and I didn’t even realize how much bullshit in our past was still affecting me. And it’s not even in our past, because Mandy is going to get used again. Fuck!”  
  
Ian sighed. “Mick, we live in New York State. The law’s on Mandy’s side, just like it was back home. There isn’t shit Lip - or anybody - can do to stop Mandy from choosing what she wants to do with her own body. That’s why I’m not too worried about her. It’s her choice and she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known.”  
  
Mickey sighed, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Yeah, but state law won’t stop your brother from breaking her heart again. She barely made it through last time. I can’t do this again. I thought this was behind us. I can’t take any more of this bullshit, Ian!”  
  
“Yeah. I’ll deal with my brother, but you gotta watch your temper, for me if nobody else. We aren’t in the South Side,” Ian warned. “No one‘s got our backs like at home, and we have strangers living below us here! We gotta watch it. Lucky my family has their whole fucking house.”

Mickey sighed, realizing Ian was right. Ian hugged Mickey again. “As shitty as this is, _we_ knew what we were going to be signing up for. My siblings _didn’t_ . This got dumped into all of their laps, like the shittiest Christmas present ever, and they had zero time to prepare,” Ian reminded him. “They basically got plopped here, and Fiona is clearly the one who’s adjusting worst of all.”  
  
Mickey sniffed with disdain. “Neither did Mandy or Iggy or Joey, and they seem to be doing okay. Iggy and Cat seem to be real fucking happy, and she treats my brother real fucking good. Fuck, if you told me any one of my brothers would find a nice girl who thinks he’s a catch, I’d ask you if you were smoking meth or something.”

The two of them shared a much-needed laugh at this. “Yeah. They needed a fresh start. So did my siblings, but the uprooting of everything we’ve ever known is hard. We knew from day one, and it was in that book I was reading,” Ian said. “Good thing it doesn’t seem to bother Iggy.”

“That’s because it’s fucking Iggy,” Mickey snorted. “I don’t think that dumb fuck has enough brain cells to rub together to know the difference where he’s living.”  
  
They both laughed, glad they finally found humor considering the terrible day they’d had. Ian stroked his fiancé’s hair, figuring now was as good a time as any to reveal something that had been rolling in his head for a while, but the incident from today confirmed was necessary.  
  
“Mick, I think I know what I want to do,” Ian said. “You know, once I’m done flying back and forth between here and Chicago and can look for a job, I want to keep working with people. But now that you’re here, I can do it the right way. I want to go back to school to be either a mental health counselor or a nurse. My EMT training can help me either way. But this time, I’ll be able to share that with you. I can make a difference for real, and - if I’m a counselor - save them from we both went through. What YOU went through.”  
  
Mickey nodded. “Just as long as you don’t turn into Gay Jesus again. I don’t need to fucking get dragged into shit again and make the feds have to relocate our asses. They’re gonna do that if either of us fucks up.”  
  
“I won’t, Mick. I did that because I was so fucking miserable while you were in Mexico. I was so broken. I couldn’t function without internalizing problems until they destroyed me. But this time, I got you. That’s what I wanted before, but now I have you,” Ian said, kissing Mickey. “Now I can do what I‘m passionate about, and be happy because my future husband is here.”  
  
Mickey punched Ian in the arm. “Fuck you. You got yourself in prison in the first place, but at least I was here to save your fucking gigantic ginger ass. Like always. Bitch.”  
  
“Right? It also occurred to me... we both need therapy. We have terrible fucking shit in our pasts anyone else would’ve gotten help for if they had a decent upbringing. I’m not even exaggerating. I want us to get help for with this shit, and it‘ll help me if that’s what I want to do for a living later on, whether I go to school to become a counselor or not,” Ian said. “I want you to come with me to get help of your own.”

When growing up on the South Side as a male Milkovich, Mickey was never used to asking for help or accepting it from others. Ian fully expected Mickey to reject this offer.

“Yeah. I’ll fucking do it. I dealt with all that shit because of Terry, but I think you’re right. It never left me. Maybe they can help me with my anger issues, too,” Mickey said. “Maybe help me get to the bottom of all of this, because I don’t talk about it...never did. Too hard. I want to keep us from getting our asses moved if I fuck up again, because I love you so much, Ian. It’d kill me if you got in more shit because of me.”  
  
Just having stopped his crying from his earlier outburst, Mickey was getting choked up. Ian realized, yet again, how much he loved this man. He couldn’t wait to marry Mickey, who saved him so many more times than he even cared to count. He’d done so much for him, and now it was time to repay him in spades.  
  
“That’s what they’ll do if I get my ass tossed back in jail. They’ll move you from your family, and me from mine. I don’t wanna put you through more, because I’d rather get shot or stabbed again. You’re it for me, Ian. You’re mine. For real and for good.” Mickey finally smiled.  
  
“I love you,” Ian said.  
  
“I love you too, Gallagher,” Mickey answered. “Fuck! I called you by your last name again...my fucking bad. But what’s up? You got that look on your face. Spit it out, Red.”  
  
“Mickey...” Ian began. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask, and I’m really sorry to have to bring this up. But you mentioned Yev earlier. Would you be open to contacting him again? I actually really miss him, and I’d love to see the kid. By the end, you were good.”  
  
Mickey sighed. “Tried a long time ago. She must’ve bolted with Yev soon as she caught wind of the shit I was involved with. Nothing they can do for someone they can’t find.”

“She never told you where she went?” Ian asked, figuring he already knew the answer.

“Nope. Last I heard from Svetlana was when she showed up while I was in jail back home and gave me the divorce papers to sign,” the black-haired man answered. “I got no idea where she went, and I'm guessing she took the geriatric viagroid she married with her. Why the fuck should she trust the feds, with ICE being as jumped-up as it is? Ain’t gonna do her no favors. Being married to a U.S. citizen don’t guarantee she won’t be deported. I got no way of contacting her since I don’t remember her number, and I doubt she has Facebook.”

“Can you get Peterson to look for her and make sure they’re safe?” Ian asked.  
  
“You hear a goddamn word I just said, Red?” Mickey scoffed. “I ask the feds to look for her and she gets deported, and then fucking what? In case you never noticed, only time I ever snitched on anybody was to get locked up with you. I can only fucking hope Yev is safe, because I ain’t gonna find the bitch and one thing I know is she’ll do damn near anything for him.”

He sighed heavily. “The one good thing she did. She showed that, even with all the other shit, she’s smart enough to where she can hide and the cartel ain’t gonna find her. Didn’t want to be a dad, still don’t wanna be one. Best thing I ever did for them was not tell the cartel about them.”

Ian felt a twinge of disappointment. Ian had loved seeing Yev and caring for him, even to the point of changing his dirty diapers. Svetlana and he had mostly been sharing parenting duties, and hopefully they were somewhere safe. This brought Ian to another train of thought.

“You mean you never, ever want to be a dad? I was wondering if down the road, you might want to adopt a child. I’d suggest a surrogate, but surrogacy like what Svetlana did for that couple is illegal in New York, because of some case in the ‘80s where the surrogate changed her mind, wanted to keep the kid, and there was a fucking ugly custody battle. Looked it up. But maybe we could adopt one day?” Ian asked. He feared the answer, knowing this was an issue on which any compromise was truly impossible.

Mickey sighed again. His eyes were still red from earlier. He took a long time to answer.

“Might be different if nobody else is in it but us. But I don’t want a baby. None of the crying, the shitty diapers or anything else. Hated it the first time. I might be open to it - ‘ _might’_ being the fucking word - if it’s an older kid, and not a fucking baby. I can’t promise you more than that,” he eventually said.

After a short pause, a smirk worked its way across Mickey’s face. “Shit will work out. We got plenty of time to talk about it. But enough of this stupid ass chitchat. Wanna fuck me or not? I wanna forget all about this stupid horseshit.”

Ian chuckled. After all they’d been through, his fiancé was the same horny little thug he fell for years ago. Ian knew the (obvious) answer to the question before he said it.  
  
“Of course I do,” the redhead answered.


	27. Clouds

_Fuck!_

Ian got up and slammed his computer chair into the desk in the living room in frustration. He was supposed to be looking for jobs online and doing chores around the house while Mickey was at his first night of work, but it was too much for him because of his irrationality.

It was like there was a dark thundercloud in his head that took over his thoughts and emotions whenever he got like this. He was a failure. He couldn’t even do what he’d promised Mickey he would - something that would help them to secure their future, and something he needed because his stipend from the federal government wasn’t going to last them forever.

He had pored over the listings of jobs on Indeed, all but giving up hope when he saw how many other applicants had already submitted their resumes for all of the postings that were available. Ian felt hopeless. The feds had managed to find jobs for Iggy and Joey, but not him, which sank him into an even deeper pool of hopelessness. He’d spent only five minutes on the site because it was making him so depressed. He even wanted a cigarette, even though he had gone for a while now without.

Granted all of their records would be wiped now that they were in the program, but still...Ian was an EMT. He’d worked hard, and what had Iggy and Joey done? They’d never held a legal job before in their lives, and now they were working and he wasn’t. The thought frustrated Ian until he realized how before this job at the club, Mickey hadn’t held a legal job aside from working security at the Kash and Grab, either - and he was able to get a job. Ian felt even more miserable.

He had promised his fiancé he’d get chores done, go get groceries and do the dishes. He hadn’t found the energy, although he had all the time in the world. The dishes were still piled high and the floor was still unvacuumed, all because Ian had fucked up, gotten himself into this mess, and now he couldn’t even pick up a fucking vacuum and clean the house, or pick up a single dirty dish and put it away in the cupboard.

But it was all too much. He couldn’t bring himself to do any of it, not even being able to start for fear of overburdening himself. All of this was too much, and he couldn’t take being rejected from these jobs, which was inevitable.

Not hungry, Ian went to bed early, not even stirring when Mickey got home and climbed into bed with him. He didn’t want to be touched, for once, and he wasn’t looking forward to having to tell Mickey the next morning. _Fuck everything._

 

* * *

 

The next morning, relatively late and almost noon, Ian was up before Mickey. He thought for a minute about texting Lip, Fiona, or Debbie, but they already thought he was crazy. Mickey was still in bed because he had worked late at the club. Ian was up much earlier than he was, dragging his carcass out of bed in spite of himself, but he still couldn’t get his shit together.

Just then, the brunet walked through the hallway from the bedroom and into the kitchen. He then proceeded into the living room and addressed Ian, looking mildly annoyed by his standards.

“I got home and the sink was fucking full of dishes, and I was there until 4 a.m. and wasn’t gonna do them when I got home. You said you were gonna,” Mickey said. “I mean...I’m working my ass off dealing with assholes, and you told me you were gonna start applying for jobs, even if it’s at a fucking coffee house or something. Did you even apply to any? We need money.”

That was the last straw for Ian. “Really? Are you fucking serious?” he exploded. “No, I didn’t apply, but I’m not qualified for any of this shit! My fake resume they gave me, while they’re waiting for something I can actually fucking do, says I had no jobs out of high school and was discharged from the Army. Literally nothing fucking else. You really think they’re lining up to hire someone with no civilian job history? You only got your shit because of Mandy!”

“There’s shit even high school kids can do. Why did you not look online, on fucking Indeed or Craigslist, while I was gone? The feds can give us referrals but they can’t make anyone hire you. Look for shit,” Mickey reasoned. “And you didn’t do that OR the dishes.”

Ian glared at Mickey before saying again, “Are you fucking kidding me? I DID, fuck you! Who gives a shit about a mess of some stupid fucking dishes in the fucking sink when...our _WHOLE LIVES ARE A BIGGER FUCKING MESS!”_

Mickey stared at Ian, presumably (and hopefully) realizing he was out of line in chastising Ian, but too stunned to say anything.

In his current state, Ian interpreted this as apathy. _Mickey doesn’t give a shit._ Ian stormed out of the room, angry and despondent over how they got into a stupid argument over something trivial. That paled in comparison, though, to the cloud of darkness in his head impairing his self-esteem, his self-worth, his everything right now.

_I hate this fucking shit. I can’t do this anymore. I’m nothing, a crazy fucking bipolar lunatic, a fuck-up who will be nothing more than a burden to me and my family. I don’t even know what the fuck Mickey sees in me, because there are so other better catches out there. Who cares if we’ve been together since we were kids, because no amount of sex can be worth dealing with a useless fucking shithead like me. I hate me. I hate this, I hate my fucking life. Am I marrying Mickey? Yeah, but how long before he leaves me and finds someone better, with more options, who isn’t a fucking terrible person who betrayed him?_

Tears ran down Ian’s face as he sobbed.

Mickey came in to find a large, Ian-sized, curled-up lump under the blankets in their bedroom. Ian felt badly about shouting at Mickey, but he knew what this was by now. He _should_ have felt badly about yelling at Ian when, based on his past personal experience, he should have known that Ian literally had no energy to do much else. Mickey should have known Ian wasn’t being lazy or obstinate by refusing to do dishes, clean the house like he did when he had more energy, or get errands done, but the demons in Ian’s mind were now convincing him otherwise: he was worthless and couldn’t do anything right, and everyone hated him.

“Mickey,” Ian said. “Please.”

“Fucking hell, Ian!” Mickey said. “I love you, and I hate seeing you like this. But there ain’t a damn thing you can do to get rid of me for good. I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want...but please talk to me. Nothing I can do?”

“Everything’s just overwhelming. I don’t know what to do with my life, everything and everyone is a mess, Mandy has to decide what to do about being knocked up and the trial is coming up,” Ian cried. “I put you at risk, I can’t do anything right and everything’s all fucked up because of me and the stupid shit I got into. I talk about wanting to get a job and about being a mental health counselor, but I’m too stupid to sit in classes and get a bachelor’s and a fucking master’s degree in order to do it, and I’m just going to fail again like I always do! I probably can’t even fucking be a nurse without an advanced degree, either! I’m not going to be able to do any of this shit!”

He took another deep breath. “I can’t do anything right...Mandy’s in this situation with my brother because of me. She doesn’t have to be with him - she’s only there because she can’t fucking talk to anyone else and if she did get with another guy, she’d have to lie to him. I fucking wonder if that’s why...Iggy can’t fucking tell Cat who he really is, and you really fucking think she’ll be thrilled when she finds out she’s been seeing an ex-con for a year? I got them all in this mess, and you could be fucking sitting on a beach in Mexico right now and not have to worry about me! I don’t know why you let me be a burden to you. You’d all be fucking better off without me. I don’t even know why the fuck you even stuck with me! At all! Fucking leave me now and spare yourself the shit!”

“Hey,” Mickey said. “Don’t fucking say that shit or I’ll kick your ass once you’re better.”

“Just leave now. Please,” came the voice from underneath the pile of blankets.

Mickey paused. That was too much. He needed space and he needed it now. When Mickey didn’t move, Ian raised his voice at him.

 _“I said go away!”_ Ian’s voice was thick with the clogged nose that came from crying. “I don’t want to see anyone right now. I don’t want to fucking talk to anyone anymore, at all!”

“All right. I’ll be in the living room if you need shit. I love you...please fucking talk to your counselor, your doctor,” Mickey said. “That ain’t you talking right now, and I fucking know that.”

Ian heard the brunet heave a sigh, what Ian would have rationally (and correctly) figured was a mixture of exasperation at the fact that Mickey couldn’t control a kind of situation like this in the way he used to - by beating things or people up - and his own pain that he couldn’t do more to help Ian in the state he was in. But Ian’s mental state had other plans, and he irrationally worried Mickey was going to leave him, and he didn’t love Ian. Why would anyone love a fucked-up person, with a broken brain, like him? The thought tortured Ian until he cried himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, Ian had no idea what time it was, but he could hear Mickey watching TV in the living room. He came out to see the brunet watching _Rambo._ Mickey paused his movie and looked up at the tall redhead as he began to speak with a dull, unemotional affect.

“I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m so sorry I snapped at you earlier. You didn’t deserve it. I should’ve washed the dishes and done chores, but I wasn’t feeling well. I failed you,” he said.

“Ian...I forgive you. It’s okay, I know you’re sick,” Mickey said. “I shouldn’t have fucking been so upset that the shit wasn’t done, and I should’ve realized why it wasn’t done. But it’s just...are your meds working? You shouldn’t be like this if they are, right? They’re supposed to be making you feel better, ain’t they? If they ain’t, then what good are they?”

Ian was taken aback. He thought Mickey knew, going in, that even if Ian remained on a steady medication regimen, it wasn’t a magic fix. Since all of them were under such amounts of stress, this was bound to happen again. Mickey was trying, but something like this was so heavy, even for someone who was experiencing it, there was bound to be confusion.

“Mick,” Ian said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “It’s not a cure-all. I’m still sick. I can still have episodes while on my meds. They just won’t be as severe because the drugs I’m on are mood stabilizers, but they are still there. They’re not going to make me ‘better,’ like how when you get an infection and take antibiotics, the infection goes away. I’m going to deal with this shit for life, and you’re stuck with it, too. I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you.”

“Fuck, Ian! You ain’t a burden to me and you know it. Goddamn it!” Mickey cursed and punched one of the sofa pillows.

Ian could see that Mickey was trying to keep his most destructive urges at bay and avoid causing real damage. Ian knew Mickey hated seeing him like this, and this was one of the few enemies he couldn’t beat into submission like so many pompous douchebags. Mickey wanted to go out and punch people, but didn’t do it - for Ian and the sake of their future.

Mickey took a breath and paused before speaking again. “Ian…I don’t want you to feel like you’re a burden to me. I love you. I held you when we were in jail and you cried because you thought you’d fucked up so bad I didn’t love you. I ain’t gonna go nowhere. Because you’re it for me. My ride or die. And if your shit is your shit for life, I guess it means I’m gonna have to deal with it, right?”

Ian felt a little better. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have someone like Mickey, who was willing to deal with him when he was in the throes of an episode like this.

“I love you, too,” Ian said. “I wish there was a way I could show you how much. I don’t really deserve you. But I wish there was something.”

“I know something you could do,” Mickey said with a slight smirk.

Ian looked at Mickey with an annoyed expression, correctly reading that his fiancé was trying to hit on him. _Seriously?_ “I’m sorry, Mickey. I’m not in the mood right now. This shit takes so much out of me, I don’t even think I can get it up. I thought you would’ve understood that by now. This usually fucking happens. It happened in prison, and it wasn’t because I was stressed and scared out of my mind. It’s part of my sickness, and it doesn’t make me horny at all.”

Mickey shrugged. “Sorry. I’m trying, Ian - I didn’t mean to be an asshole. Just don’t worry about it. But I’ll be there for you when you’re ready. Go lie down and get some more sleep. I’ll grab you some food and bring it to you if you want it. I’ll do whatever. I gotta go to work in a few hours, but I’ll be around for whatever you need until then, Red.”

Ian didn’t answer. Even through the awful thoughts in his head, he realized how lucky he was to have Mickey, but the haze was too thick for him to comprehend it in that moment. Now he just turned down Mickey for sex, and he felt like shit for not being able to do something basic.

All Ian wanted was to just sleep and not deal with this bullshit, so he went back to bed, knowing he had just gotten up. It didn’t matter.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, Ian woke up to his phone buzzing. It was well into the evening by now, and he had slept the day away. _Fuck_ . Cursing, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and saw he had three missed texts from Mandy, all a variation of: _Once you’re up, we need to talk. Gonna come back from lip’s, cuz there’s something I need to tell you that’s important._

 _Fuck,_ Ian thought. He was in a weird mixture of not wanting to see people, but felt at this point it might make him even more depressed to be a hermit, so he texted back: _Sorry I’ve been in bed all day. Just getting up now. Had a fucking episode again, as you probably already realized. Feeling better now that I’ve slept, but can’t promise I’ll be social when you get home._

Ian dragged his carcass into the kitchen to find a Post-It from Mickey stuck onto the counter. Ian couldn’t help but smile a little to himself as he read it: _Hey cooked food and left it in fridge. Feel better Firecrotch I love u so fucking much_

Ian soon realized the cooked food consisted of pizza bagels and mozzarella sticks. _Typical_ , he thought, but he appreciated the sentiment, sat down and ate a small amount. He wondered if this urgent talk with Mandy had to do with the fact that she was pregnant, since that was still the elephant in the room, and he rarely saw her since she was usually with Ian’s family of origin.

About half an hour later, Ian heard the key turning in the door downstairs, and once Mandy came into the living room, Ian finished his food and tried to prepare himself for whatever conversation he and Mandy were about to have. He hoped it wouldn’t turn into a shouting match.

“If this is about you being pregnant, I can go with you to Planned Parenthood with Mickey and your brothers. But my thing is...how the fuck did this shit even happen?” Ian asked.

“You fucking know how it happened,” Mandy said, snarkily, in the way he’d come to expect from Milkoviches. “But I know what you meant. It was an accident - I didn’t try to trick your brother or anything. I’d never fucking do that, because Karen tried that shit and I’m not like her. I figure I must’ve gotten knocked up when we were puking our guts out over those shitty-ass tacos. I probably had just taken my birth control pill, so it didn’t work as well since it wasn’t in my system long enough because I puked it up. The timing lined up. So...wham, bam, now I got a bun in the oven.”

“That makes sense,” Ian said, although the topic of birth control was foreign to him, for obvious reasons. “Not that I fucking know a lot about that, since I never had to deal with it.”

“Lucky you,” Mandy answered. “But what I wanted to tell you is if you guys take me to Planned Parenthood, it’s gonna be for prenatal care. I’m keeping it. You’re gonna be an uncle after all. You and Mickey. Talked to Lip. He didn’t pressure me or anything, but Lip was so happy, and it made me happy, too. This is what I wanted...a good life, a kid, and a chance to start over instead of being fucked for life. I love living with him, and I love him. This is what I wanted since I was 16.”

Ian’s jaw dropped. “You’re gonna keep the baby? I...I’m shocked. I honestly thought you didn’t want to go through with it.”

“Yeah,” Mandy said. “I told Mickey. He was really shocked, too, but I told him I wanted this for so long, and I finally fucking got it. Fuck, Ian, you getting busted was the best thing to happen to me. And you and Mickey can help with the baby. You were so good with Yevgeny. I was pissed at Mickey when he didn’t want anything to do with the baby because I wanted one of my own, but it was such a bad time for me to have one. I thought about it and think this is really is a better time now. New beginnings and all that shit.”

Ian snorted. In a weird, fucked-up way, he realized Mandy was right, and he couldn’t help but allow a smile to creep across his face. He and Mickey were going to be uncles. Ian was already an uncle since Debbie had Franny, but this was different, because this child was going to have a blood connection to _Mickey_. He or she would be related to both of them by blood. But he still had a nagging feeling Mandy might not be making the best financial decision in this.

“What are you gonna do about work? You guys work, but babies aren’t cheap,” Ian said.

“We got that worked out. I applied for a part-time job at a supermarket further up on Elmwood, went for an interview on Monday and just found out I got it. I’ll start there in two weeks,” Mandy explained. “They had an opening for a part-time cashier. The employees are part of a huge fucking food workers union, so they get health insurance even if I just work part-time a couple days a week. I gotta pay for dues, but it’ll be worth it. Makes it almost impossible to get fired, too. And state law keeps them from firing pregnant workers.”

“Really? You think you guys can swing it?” Ian asked. “I figure Debbie and Liam can help out with child care, so that won’t be an issue. Debbie already went through all of this with Franny, so she can help you with the pregnancy and the baby once he or she comes.”

“Between that, my job at the club and what Lip is making, I think so. I already got money saved up from when I started working here, since we didn't have to pay rent for 6 months. I checked and if I do end up getting this job, I’ll be covered if I go to a hospital to have the kid - even if I work just a few days a week. I’ll also look into whether we qualify for WIC since this state would let me get assistance for formula, fruit and milk and other basic shit while I’m pregnant and until the kid is 5 if income qualifies us. But we might make too much.”

Ian sighed. “Even if I feel like shit at the moment, at least I got a new niece or nephew, and a wedding to Mickey to look forward to. It’ll just take me a little while before I can appreciate it without my head fucking it up as usual.”

“Come here,” Mandy said. “It’ll be okay. And you know what else? There’s still good to come. You and Mickey can start planning your wedding...you guys haven’t even picked out rings yet. I bet it’ll be real nice to have a small little ceremony at the courthouse. Just our families.”

Ian gave Mandy a hug. While his day started with a dark thundercloud of depression, which still was clouding his mind in spite of the happy news - he was worried for his best friend, and Lip, hoping they were making the right choice - he was glad that there was some sort of a break in the clouds, a light in the darkness in his head.


	28. Birthday

“So...I realized something,” Ian said, one morning when he and Mickey were lying in bed, spent, after relieving their mutual morning wood in the best way they knew how. Ian, having spent inside Mickey, was allowing his breathing to slow back down after his intense orgasm.

”What’s that?” Mickey murmured. He was several seconds away from completing the ritual walk to the bathroom to clean himself up, since his release was coating his own chest as well.

“We never celebrated either of our birthdays. We should do something about that,” Ian said. “My birthday was in May, when we were holed up while the feds were getting ready to transport all of us to Buffalo. My family was there to celebrate with me, but you weren’t, and I fucking missed you the whole time. And we were still in jail for yours last month. Sure, we got the room and I was able to fuck you good and hard then as a birthday treat for you there, but it’s not the same.”

“We never really were big on celebrating birthdays,” Mickey said. “It’s nice and we’ve done some low-key shit over the years, but I’m thinking maybe we should wait until you get a job first before we go balls deep. Don’t wanna go through your stipend money and spend it all on me instead of you...but yeah, I think it’d be nice to go on another date or some shit. That and we can celebrate the best way we know how.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the redhead.

“Yeah,” Ian said glumly. He got up and starting pacing the room. “Hopefully this stock boy job works out. It’ll be nice to have money that isn’t from the stipend we’re getting from the program. At least your job is going all right.”

By this point, it had been about a month since they were released from jail and settled in the apartment. The previous week, Ian had an interview at a pet store to be a stock associate, and he was waiting to hear back. He figured it would be simple and straightforward since he’d done similar work at the Kash and Grab. At least the interviewers would just assume he was a quick learner and a good study, particularly since he’d previously served in the Army.

“Fuck, I get paid to tell off assholes and rough ‘em up if they stick their hands where they shouldn’t on the girls, so I’m pleased as piss,” Mickey snickered, still nestled in the warm blankets. “I mean, all you gotta do is lift bags of pet food, and you got enough muscle to do that. I did half the shit at my job when I ran the rub and tug. You’re gonna be fine hauling shit around at that pet store, and build up more sexy muscle.”

“Yeah, if I can stay in shape,” Ian said. He’d kept up his morning running routine and bought some free weights to use at home, but he still felt like an out-of-shape lump. He privately promised himself the first thing he’d do once he got a job would be to get a cheap gym membership. He’d already looked online, and some of them were only about $20 per month and would allow him all of the basic equipment he had access to in jail, plus more.

“I love you, Ian. I’m sure you fucking killed it with the interview and knocked ‘em on their asses,” Mickey said. “Look at you being all respectable again. If that don’t work, you could always see if Mandy can get you something at the supermarket. She’s only there a couple nights a week, so they gotta have some openings.”

Truth be told, Ian wasn’t really looking forward to being a stock boy, but he needed a part-time job while he was planning to go back to school. After their argument, Ian did research online and discovered an LPN program at a local vocational school - Ian’s long-term plan, which he’d formulated now that he had more energy and more motivation to do so. He’d checked with his new psychiatrist, whom he’d found via a referral from his doctor in prison, who adjusted the dosage of one of his meds while leaving the other as is. Things were looking up.

“To be honest, I don’t give a shit about the job. I just want money,” Ian said, with less than pleasant flashbacks to the time after he’d broken up with Mickey. He was so desperate, he came close to going back to being a tweaked-out twink for old guys, who gave him enough cash to make it tolerable.

Just then, as if on cue, Ian’s phone buzzed. He looked down at it and saw a number he didn’t recognize. He picked up and tentatively said, “Hello? Ian Gallivan speaking.”

“Ian, this is Jared from Pet Supplies Plus,” the voice on the other end said. “We spoke last week about the stock team member position at #116. We’re pleased to have you on board. How soon can you start? We’ve sent the new hire packet to the email address you gave us in your application. Congratulations and welcome.”

“Uh...thank you,” Ian said, trying to keep the stammering to a reasonable minimum. He was stunned, but relieved beyond anything he’d felt since he started living here. He could contribute to the household and things like groceries, gas and everything else they needed in order to be a productive member of society.

“Oh, and it’s an electronic form you can fill out and email back,” Jared added.

“Thank you so much. I can start immediately,” Ian responded. “I’ll sign the stuff and get the packet back to you right away.”

“Great! Send me the packet back, and we can get you on the schedule for next week and start your training.” Jared said. “Welcome to our team.”

After he hung up, Ian looked over at Mickey with a sense of utter gratitude and love in his eyes before hugging him. “You helped me, Mick. You helped motivate me to get a job, and it fucking worked,” Ian exclaimed. “I’m so fucking grateful to you and I want to make it worthwhile for you.”

“Oh?” Mickey said. “Shock me, Firecrotch. Ain’t much that still can anymore.”

“Well...you know how I was saying I wanted to do something nice for you for your birthday, and I wanted it to be something really special? Well...I have a really special idea. Ian seductively slinked over to the bed, got on and presented his clothed ass to Mickey. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck…” Mickey breathed, before his rational brain took over. “Why don’t you send them that fucking shit that they want back first, so you can be sure you got this job, and then you can get on me? Or rather, I get on you for once.”

Ian groaned. “You’re right...but do you even want it? I mean, the last time I offered, you told me if you wanted to fuck guys in the ass, you would’ve stayed in prison. Thought you hated it.”

“Yeah, that was what, three years ago now?” Mickey scoffed. “And I was on the run then. Shit changes, and we ain’t in the same circumstances now. Might have noticed...might also have noticed those dudes were fucking random pieces of ass, not the man I’m getting hitched to.”

That declaration made Ian’s boxers immediately grow tight as his thick shaft took a great deal of interest in Mickey’s words. “Oh, Mick,” he said. “I want you to fuck me. We’ve never done that and I want it to feel fucking great for you.”

“Yeah?” Mickey said, eyebrow arched. “I think it’d feel even better if we did it after you submit your new hire packet to the fucking pet store. Then I can fuck you until you’re screaming for me and begging me to stick in in you.”

“Fuck you,” Ian groveled, but he knew he had a promise to fulfill to Mickey. He walked to the living room, cursing as he waited for the computer to boot up since his phone wouldn’t load the forms correctly. He quickly read through the information that the manager from the pet store - his future boss - had sent him, filling out the forms and then emailing them back as quickly as he could, while making sure they were completed.

When Ian came back into the bedroom, Mickey was already shirtless and down to his boxers, and Ian guessed he’d just decided to save that last bit of clothing for Ian to remove himself. His eyes hooded over with just, Mickey said to Ian, “C’mere. I want you so fucking bad right now.”

Obliging, Ian climbed into the bed and positioned himself on top of Mickey, the two making out passionately as the shorter man ran his fingers through the strands of red hair on Ian’s head. Ian was turned on beyond belief at the thought of finally being able to give himself to Mickey this way. He’d only ever bottomed for Trevor and, in that instance, he hadn’t really wanted to do it and just did it to make Trevor happy.

But in this case, it was _Mickey._  His Mickey, his beloved man he’d loved and wanted for so long. Since he probably didn’t want to mention an ex in this moment, Ian opted to be vague. “Just...be gentle. It’s been a long fucking time, and I haven’t used toys on myself or anything.”

“I will,” Mickey said. “Damn, you’re gonna be so fucking tight for me. Gonna feel so good.” He leaned in to kiss Ian. “Oh, and go get cleaned out if you need to. I already hooked up that kit that attaches to the shower. Probably wanna do that and use it before we start anything.”

After he was done, Ian rejoined Mickey on the bed. “I love you so much,” Ian said in between kissing him. “I’m doing this because I really want it from you. You never pressured me, I want to share this with you since it’s so special.”

“Fuck, you turned the fucking sap level up to 11. I’m gonna go soft,” Mickey groaned.

“Fuck you,” Ian shot back.

“That’s my job today, asshole,” Mickey said. “For once. After this it’s back to you fucking me...or maybe if I like this enough, we can make it a more regular thing, like a fucking treat.”

“Mmm,” Ian moaned. “How do you want me?”

“On your back,” Mickey replied. “Wanna suck your cock for you and then give you a nice, long rimjob like you always give me. So fucking good. Get you nice and ready for my cock.”

Ian squirmed at Mickey’s words, so turned on that it overrode any feeling of nervousness he had about not having bottomed in years. As he lay on his back, Mickey placed a trail of kisses downward, nuzzling his nose in the red hairs on Ian’s unshaven chest and licking, pinching at one erect, pink nipple before doing the same to the other one, teasing it. Ian hissed.

“Fuck,” Ian said. “Such a tease.”

“Mmm,” Mickey purred. “Wanna make you feel fucking good. Shut the fuck up and just enjoy it. You said you’re gonna give your ass to me as a late birthday present, but I wanna make you enjoy it as much as I do.”

Mickey continued to work wonders on Ian with his tongue, bathing the pale, freckled skin and causing Ian to squirm more, anticipation building as his cock began to copiously leak pre-cum that hung from the tip of his cock before dropping off to land onto the redhead’s lower belly.

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian said again. “I want you. Such a fucking tease.”

“Speak for yourself, Red,” Mickey retorted. “You do this shit to me all the time. Now shut the fuck up and let me just make you feel good. Ahh...I have an idea for something you’d like.”

He got up and went over to the toy chest. He dug around in its contents and picked up both a plug, a bottle of lube and the prostate massager they’d gotten as “gifts” Mickey had gotten the feds to buy for them in exchange for their continued cooperation with the federal investigation. Ian’s eyes widened in anticipation.

“That looks interesting,” Ian said, “but I’d assumed we’d be using it on you and not me.”

“Don’t have to. Only if you want,” Mickey said, checking Ian’s face for any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he asked Ian for consent and got a slight nod in return.

“Want me to use it on you?” Mickey said, a devilish expression on his face laced with lust and passion for his partner. “Want me to stick this in your ass and massage your spot with it until you fucking beg me to fuck you? I want to make you feel like you make me feel...so fucking good.”

Ian was so hard, it felt like there was no blood left anywhere else in his body. “Come here, Mickey,” he said. “I’d love that. I hope it feels as good as you’ve been leading me to think.”

“Oh, it should,” Mickey smirked. He grabbed the lube and began slicking his fingers with it. “Now spread ‘em for me.”

Ian, still lying on his back, did what Mickey asked. Mickey leaned over him to kiss him, then proceeded to swirl one slick finger around the outside of Ian’s puckered opening. Ian moaned softly, then more loudly as Mickey’s finger slipped inside of him. He panted softly as more of it entered him, the sensations too intense and still unfamiliar for him to do much else.

“Mmm. Feels nice. Never done this before, with you on this end,” Mickey purred. “Feels nice and warm, so fucking tight. This is gonna feel great.”

Ian whined again as Mickey inserted a second finger, scissoring them apart to stretch the opening before curling them to rub Ian’s sweet spot, causing an immediate reaction from the redhead that caused Mickey to harden further.

“Ohhhh, fuck! Holy fuck!” Ian exclaimed, his voice higher-pitched than he thought he’d ever heard it. His cheeks pinked in embarrassment.

Mickey snickered. “It’s about to feel even better. I charged this up a few days ago because I wanted one of us to use it. Didn’t care much who.” Ian noticed the toy Mickey was holding had a charging port rather than a battery compartment.

After slicking the toy up with lube, Mickey grasped it in his right hand and began inserting the blunt tip inside Ian. He tensed up in spite of himself at the intrusion, and he felt a jolt of pain as Mickey pushed the toy in further, before seeing the pained look on Ian’s face and stopping.

“Relax. Bear down with your muscles. Let me show you how you make me feel,” Mickey said, his voice almost a whisper. “It’ll feel fucking great in a minute, but we can stop if you want. Once you loosen up I’ll be able to put my dick into you after I drive you fucking nuts with this thing.”

Still nervous but somewhat reassured, Ian said, “No. I want to keep going. Want you.”

Turned on beyond all belief by this point, Mickey continued to press the toy inside Ian until the initial bulge of the toy had fully breached his opening. After the curved bulge, the toy had a flared portion to keep it from getting lost inside. Ian squirmed and whined more. He hadn’t felt anything yet- or he was about to learn very quickly.

Mickey pressed the plus-sign dial on the base of the toy, and its low, rumbly vibrations right where Ian needed them felt amazing, but they weren’t quite enough for him to feel them. Thankfully, Mickey seemed to notice that Ian was entirely too coherent , so he turned the intensity up and deliberately curled the toy upward toward Ian’s belly so that it hit its target spot.

“Mmmmphhh! Jesus fucking fuck!” Ian cried out. “Fucking shit!”

Chuckling, Mickey kept holding the vibrator in that spot until Ian was convulsing and whining, unable to make much more of a sound than that. His eyes were squeezed shut with pleasure.

“Mick…” he eventually uttered. “Fucking stop unless you want this to be over real fucking fast. Take it out and fuck me now.”

Mickey turned the toy off and removed it. He positioned himself between Ian spread, lanky legs and used the bottle of lube to slick his own cock, working his hand up and down the shaft. Considering how strange it felt to be on the giving end but far too turned on to care, he began pressing into Ian as the redhead fought to keep his muscles from instinctively tensing up.

Ian hissed in pain, a muttered “Ow!” escaping his lips. Mickey stopped where he was, his head just inside Ian’s stretched hole.

“I ain’t that big, Firecrotch. Not compared to you,” Mickey chortled. “Gotta relax your muscles for me, babe, or this ain’t gonna happen.”

“It’s easy for you to say because I haven’t had anything up there in years - unlike you, you fucking cockslut. Fucking give me a minute already. Jesus,” Ian shot back.

Mickey maintained his position, the wait and the anticipation maddening, but his concern and love for Ian, and not wanting to hurt him, overriding his lust and desire. Eventually, Ian huffed and gave Mickey the go-ahead to move again. He felt the muscles loosening and gradually began to thrust in further, gradually working his cock into Ian’s hole until his balls were resting against Ian’s pale cheeks. “Fuuuck,” Mickey said. “Goddamnit that’s fucking tight. Feels so good.”

“Holy fuck, this is intense,” Ian breathed. “Fuck. You’re inside me...I didn’t think it would feel like this, but I gotta fucking give you credit for doing this so well whenever I fuck you.”

They both snickered at this, Ian’s coming out rather choked as Mickey pulled out to thrust back in hard. “Fuck!” Ian said again.

They kept up that rhythm, Mickey thrusting into Ian as the redhead jerked his long, thick cock, which was resting angry and red against his stomach, the length of it long enough to extend past his navel. Ian’s breathing picked up as he concentrated on being filled and stretched. Mickey wasn’t nearly as long as he was,  but was still thick and Ian realized he enjoyed it and the little bit of pain at the start was well worth it.

“Ugh, Mick,” Ian moaned. “I’m getting close. Fuck me harder. Do it. So fucking close...ugggh!”

Ian’s cock shot his load all over his stomach and chest as he found his release. Mickey moaned in pleasure as Ian’s hole tightened around his, the spasms driving both of them nuts.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come, too. Fuck...here it comes,” Mickey grunted. His thrusts grew shaky, and a few strokes later he blew his load deep inside Ian’s still-twitching hole. Ian moaned at the foreign but not-unpleasant feeling of being filled with Mickey’s juices, the feeling intimate when he did it to his partner, but never having experienced this. He was glad to be able to share it with Mickey.

They took a long time to come down from their high, the brunet lying, exhausted, on top of the taller redhead. Between this and their romp earlier in the day, they were too tired to even care about the puddle of Ian’s cum that was now all over Mickey as well.

The pair were so wrapped in what they were doing, they hadn’t heard keys turning in the front door, and they, thankfully enough, had enough time to cover up when Iggy came barging into their bedroom.

”The FUCK?!” Mickey snarled. “Get the fuck outta here before I shove my fucking foot up your ass! What the fucking shit is wrong with you?!”

“Like he just shoved his dick up yours?” Iggy retorted, neither of them bothering to correct him because this situation was humiliating enough as it was.

“I wanna know why the fuck there’s a metal fucking hose rigged up in our shower with a nozzle. The fuck kind of stupid-ass shit is that? Get it outta there,” Iggy complained.

Both Mickey and Ian flushed with embarrassment, hoping the floor would drop out from underneath them.

”I’ll get it the fuck out of there,” Ian grumbled. “Just you get the fuck out of here! Jesus H. Christ, Iggy.” 

After he left, Ian and Mickey shared a passionate kiss, with tongues caressing each other. As they broke apart, Ian had just one thing to say:

“Happy belated birthday, Mickey.”

 

* * *

 

The annoyance of sitting at home weighed heavily on Ian for the next several days, but before long, the time had ticked away. The morning he was to start his first shift at the pet store, it greatly annoyed him how he had to leave while Mickey was still asleep, since the latter worked until 4 a.m. He hoped their hours wouldn’t mean they’d barely see each other. Ian figured he wouldn’t have enough clout to negotiate hours at this retail job until he’d been there for a while. 

Still, a job was a job. Better still, the pet store was close enough that he could take the bus to and from work, thus freeing the McGuire family car for their own use. Iggy and Joey usually also took buses, since Mickey and Mandy didn’t trust them to drive the car and not crash it. Even though they literally worked with cars, they were terrible drivers and the fear wasn’t unfounded.

Once Ian arrived, he stopped by the manager’s office to get his work shirt and learn how to punch in and out for the day. He also got a brief tour of the store, including the aisles where he’d be using the ladder and U-boat carts to move product from the backroom onto the shelves.

Ian met the other employees, most of whom were younger college or even high school students, and he felt old. He realized that aside from the team lead and the store managers, one of whom was about his own age, and some of the women in the dog grooming salon, he was one of the oldest employees there. The thought bothered him a bit, but he didn’t dwell on it for very long.

As he carried his sixth cart of dog food from the loading dock and through the back room, Ian wondered vaguely, not for the first time, how his life had come to this. He knew he wanted to go for his LPN diploma and certification at some point, but that all seemed so far away for now. He’d have to probably take out loans, which would require him to get a credit history he didn’t have. 

Sighing and trying not to be depressed over the prospect of being here for a while, Ian took a walk on his lunch hour. He grabbed food from the Mighty Taco down Delaware Avenue from the store and walked back, glad to be able to get some cardio in addition to lifting the heavy bags of pet food. _Might as well be productive._

This time, as Ian walked back into the store, he noticed a small row of cages against the side wall, near the fish tanks. He peered inside to see two small, black kittens, barely older than a few months. Older cats, those who wouldn’t be adopted as quickly, were in the lower cages. The sign indicated the cats had been brought offsite from the local SPCA, and were not bought and sold by the pet store itself. 

While feeling sad for the plight of the little cats, Ian noted the SPCA’s main address on the business card attached to the cages, along with the shelter’s contact information. He snapped a picture with his phone. It dawned on Ian that once he got his first few paychecks, he would be able to get an actual, real birthday present for Mickey.

_We’ll be able to raise a pet together, Mickey and me. We can go to the shelter and pick out a cat of our own, as his belated birthday gift._


	29. Impending

Once Ian had gotten his first paycheck from the pet store, he decided to fulfill his promise to Mickey and get him a cat for his birthday. He ran it by the former thug first, recognizing (from common sense and what his coworkers at the store told him) surprise “gifts” often led to overpopulated animal shelters and were ill-advised.

Mickey, while thrilled with the idea of being able to raise a little kitten with Ian and appreciative of Ian’s thoughtfulness, had misgivings. On one hand, he’d never had a pet as a child, because Terry wouldn’t let the kids have any, and since they didn’t want to give Terry another weapon to use against them when he got angry.

However, Mickey was concerned about leaving the cat alone while they went to Chicago, noting that much of their life would be on hold until the trial ended. Thankfully, all four suspects were co-defendants, so there would be one joint trial, as far as Ian knew. Still, they could be gone for a decent amount of time.

Ian figured Lip would be open to it, so he texted his brother to see if this would be an option. Mickey was resistant to the idea of his sister’s boyfriend being around more than was necessary and, as it was, they barely saw Mandy because she was usually at his house.

“Cat probably would, since she fucking loves animals and has been pestering Iggy to get a cat or a dog. Mandy can’t, ‘cuz she’s knocked up,” Mickey said. “Don’t trust my brothers, since they can’t take care of drugs without getting busted. The fuck do we tell Cat to explain why we’re gonna be gone for fuck-knows-how-long? Tell her we went to Vegas? And what the fuck will happen to the cat if something happens to _us?_ ”

“Relax,” Ian said, holding up his phone. He ignored Mickey’s comment about bad things happening to them, because the thought was too horrible. “My brother just said he’d do it. He’s the best one to do it since he needs no explanation.”

“Great. Like we really need that asswipe coming around our house any more than he’s gotta,” Mickey grumbled. “We oughta just fucking ask Cat since we know she’d do it.”

“Hey. You think that’s a better idea? You want to have to tell Cat, ‘Hey, we’re gonna be leaving town for a while, but we don’t know when or for how long! Can you watch our cat for us?’ She’ll either get suspicious or think we’re total fucking assholes dumping it on her,” Ian pointed out. “At least Lip will know where we are, and we don’t have to lie to him about why we left. We still got this trial bullshit we gotta get through.”

That settled the situation. As it was, neither Ian nor Mickey was sure when they’d be called to testify. Peterson had told them they’d get a subpoena, and that he’d be flying to Buffalo to hand-deliver it since the U.S. Attorney General’s office did not mail subpoenas, much less ones with sensitive information in a case that involved the WITSEC program.

With red tape being sorted out, they expected to hear back shortly once Peterson knew more about what was going to be transpiring. Ian noted he still wasn’t sure when the trial would actually start, or when exactly he would be needed to testify. The thought unnerved Ian, since it could happen whenever.

Ian was worried about the upcoming proceedings, the trial still hanging over their heads like a stormcloud threatening rain. Mickey’s testimony against Diego Rivera, the Juarez cartel associate on whom Mickey had flipped on order to get locked up in Beckman with Ian, was done. The Skype testimony from Mickey’s hospital bed in Chicago was ruled admissible, so with Mickey’s help, Peterson and the feds secured a conviction against Rivera. Rivera had gotten 25 years to life for his role in the cartel’s misdeeds. However, that still left the rest of them.

For Ian, the possibility of being able to testify against Sammi was a reward in and of itself - revenge was a dish best served cold - but once Cortez and the ex-COs the feds were prosecuting were locked up, they’d all be able to breathe more easily. As much as they’d been adjusting and settling into civilian life in Buffalo, none of this mattered until the reason why they’d moved in the first place was put behind them. _Once that happens, we can finally be free_ , Ian thought.

 

* * *

 

At the moment, they were waiting for Mandy to return and give them a ride to the SPCA, so they could look at the cats there. Ian still couldn’t get thoughts of the impending trial, and their trip back to Chicago, out of his head. Until that was done, they weren’t out of the woods. Ian had a bad feeling something might go wrong.

“When do you think we will be called to testify? It’s been six months now since you got stabbed and they charged Cortez and Sammi, and arrested the Copelands,” Ian said, worried.

“Not sure. I got a pretty fucking quick and unfair trial for the shit with Sammi, but that was a small fucking state trial compared to this. This is a federal case,” Mickey said. “They’d already been investigating the cartel for a while, so I didn’t have to wait long to be called to testify against Rivera, but here, they gotta build a whole new case against these fucking goons who tried to off me in the showers at Beckman.”

“Fair enough,” Ian said. “I hate this because it’s just more of the same shit...waiting for things that are outside of our control. I just want this to be over with so we can move on. It’s bad enough you got fucking _stabbed_ the last time. What if something worse happens?

“It will be, Ian. Just wait. We gotta wait it out, and then we’ll get the life we always wanted for us,” Mickey reassured him. “Everything is gonna be alright in the end.”

Just then, a horn sounded from outside. They peered out the window and saw Mandy’s black car waiting outside for them. They shuffled down the stairs, locked up and climbed in, Ian claiming shotgun, to Mickey’s chagrin.

“Thank fuck you assholes showed up,” Mandy grumbled. “Bad enough I have terrible heartburn and still feel like death warmed over, though the morning sickness has gotten a little better. Thank fuck.”

“Bitch, this was your fucking choice to do this,” Mickey shot back. “You really sound like fucking Svetlana back when she was knocked up with Yevgeny.”

Mandy turned around and whacked Mickey on the arm with a gun magazine before backing out of the driveway. “Love you too, big brother. Assface,” she said.

“Ow! Fuck you,” came the reply from the backseat.

“So...when do you find out what you’re having? A boy or a girl?” Ian asked.

“Doctor said I’m at only 12 weeks,” Mandy said. “I’m just getting out of the first trimester, so now the risk I’ll lose the baby is way smaller. They generally aren’t able to find out the sex of the baby until between 16 and 20 weeks, so we still got more time.”

“Fuck,” Ian said. “I wanna know if we’re gonna have a niece or a nephew. What do you want?”

“Me? I honestly want a girl. I’m so sick of being surrounded by boys all the time, and that’s all I knew growing up. No more of that,” Mandy said. “But I’ll be happy as long as the baby is healthy, even if it’s another shithead boy.”

“Really? You would gotten your ass kicked so many fucking times over if it wasn’t for us,” Mickey retorted. “You needed us. Get the fuck on outta here with that bullshit. I hope it’s a boy so our brothers can teach him our ways.”

“I fucking hope not,” Mandy said back. They were at a red light, so she was able to flip Mickey off with both middle fingers before the light turned green and she sped forward. “Also, don’t you guys still have a wedding to plan?”

Ian shrugged. “Yeah, we want to get married, but we can’t really plan much until we know when we’re gonna get dragged back to Chicago. We were just talking about that. I hate how we can’t have long-term plans until after.”

“Relax. I got you covered - at least, I got Mickey,” Mandy said. “I called Peterson about it, and he said once it comes time for you guys to go, he’ll have fake papers made up saying you’re in Ohio for a trial, so your bosses let you off. You can get one for Lisa and Sharon, and they can hold your job open. Legally, they can’t fire you. Not sure how Jared will react to you being off, but hopefully he can do the same for you.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. “Always sticking your neck out for us. I just hope Jared is okay with it.”

They pulled into the driveway of the county SPCA, noticing how big and expansive the property was. There was a barn at one side and doors with “Adoptions,” “Admissions” and an entrance to a on-site vet clinic over them in large letters. The trio walked toward the adoptions area and opened the door. After a woman greeted them at the front desk, they showed their IDs and answered some questions before the woman gave them a paper slip. This let them visit and interact with adoptable cats that were on site at the shelter.

“What do you guys want? A cat or a kitten?” Mandy asked. “I’ll wait outside in the hall so I’m not around the cat litter - it’s bad for pregnant women to be around it, but I want to see the cat you end up picking out.”

“Sure,” Ian said. “Mick, you wanted a kitten, right? Up to you, though - I’ll be happy with whatever you want as long as the cat doesn’t piss and shit all over the apartment.”

Mickey was poring over the cats in the cages and the rooms, when his eye landed on two in particular. “You want one, or two? These two are grown-ass cats, but they gotta go together. I was reading shit about how cats do better when there are two of ‘em. Sort of like us - how we acted out and shit when we were apart.”

Ian snorted. Leave it to Mickey to do research and look up things on his spare time, in ways that belied the tough, streetwise and largely unlearned image he still projected. He looked more closely at the cats Mickey was considering, and he had a hunch as to why he was drawn to them.

Both were adult males, one black and one ginger. While they looked rather thin and unkempt, they seemed content and were both sleeping together on the same shelf of the cat condo, clearly a bonded pair. Their paperwork indicated they had to be adopted out together.

“Excuse me?” Ian said to one of the shelter workers. “We’ve got a guest pass and would like to take a look at those two.” He pointed at the paperwork for the cats.

“Bert and Ernie? They’re a handful,” the worker, whose name badge read Adrienne, said. “Came to us as strays. We could tell they’d been through a lot. The black one, Bert, is such a little pisspot. Did nothing but hiss at the volunteers when he came in three or four months ago. He needed a gentle hand because we think he’d run from an abusive situation, but once he learned he could trust us, he came around. Now he’s mostly nice. Bert and Ernie took a liking to each other right away, which surprised us.”

“Oh?” Ian said, immediately interested. He looked at Mickey, who raised an eyebrow back.

“Yeah. They didn’t come in together, but in the several months we’ve had them, they took a real liking to each other. The orange one, Ernie, came from a hoarding situation,” Adrienne said. “Owners adopted more cats than they could care for, and we think Ernie got lost in the shuffle. He had health problems he needed meds for, but he’s a sweetheart even with all he’s been through. But Bert is _so_ protective of him, we have to be careful. He hissed and swatted at the vet techs when they they gave Ernie his vaccinations.”

“But he’s okay now?” Mickey asked, clearly intrigued by these two cats with such an interesting backstory. “Bert? He don’t hiss and snap at you guys now?”

“No,” Adrienne said. “Only if anybody messes with Ernie. Otherwise, he’s fine now. He came around so much after a little loving care he never had before. He sits on your lap and purrs now. It just shows he still has so much love in him, even coming from a bad environment. He’s a real exercise in nature versus nurture, that one.”

“I wanna adopt those two,” Mickey said firmly. “Ian? You think so? Let’s see if those two don’t work out with us. Gonna be surprised if they don’t.”

“Sure, Mickey,” Ian said, grinning, knowing already they’d end up with two cats.

* * *

 

The cats, whom Mickey and Ian renamed Alex and Clayton, put up a fight from the time they were herded into their carriers. Ian, Mandy and Mickey picked up many of the supplies they needed at the pet store on-site at the shelter, including food, litter boxes and litter, water and food bowls, a blanket and a few toys.

Ian was short on cash by this point, so the two McGuires chipped in for the cost of the supplies, in spite of Ian’s objections. It was only reasonable, since none of them had credit cards and Mickey and Mandy still distrusted banks, so none of them carried around too much cash.

On the drive home, the cats “sang the song of their people,” as the shelter workers warned the new adopters the trapped felines would. They mewled, cried and meowed all the way home, with the noise temporarily stopping whenever they reached a red light and starting all over again when the car started to move again.

Ian, who was sitting in the back with the cats, carefully took the new blanket and stuck it in the carrier with the cats, and that, along with his continued comforting presence, seemed to help them a little.

While the felines initially were scared, cowering in the corners of the living room and underneath the bed, over the course of the week they took a quick liking to their new home and their owners. Alex - to Ian’s delight - really came out of his shell, much as he’d suspected.

Since Ian took care of the litter box and kept it clean at all times, Mandy was able to interact with the cats that belonged to her brother and best friend. She, too, was delighted to have something else living there when she was at the house, and Lip even came over a few times in the next week to play with them.

“Look at this, Mickey,” Ian said one morning, as Mickey staggered out of bed like a zombie, and into the living room. Alex, who was the smaller of the two, was sitting in Ian’s lap, purring. He showed no sign of being the hell with four sets of claws the shelter workers had said he initially was when he first came to them.

 _He probably just hated being cooped up in that shelter, with no home, no freedom and no definite timetable for when he’d finally be free,_ Ian thought. _But he’s fine now. He’s home, and he never has to ever worry about going back to that place again._

“Fucking cute,” Mickey said. “Wait, I never said that. Never said ‘cute.’ That’s fucking _badass_. You managed to tame the cat people who fucking work around cats all day long said was mean as a pit of vipers. That’s...the fucking sexiest and most badass thing I’ve seen all day.”

“No,” Ian said. “That’s not. The sexiest and most badass thing I’ve seen all day is standing there right in front of me, with hair all messed up and sleep in his eyes, and I give zero fucks because he’s all I really need in order for shit to not be fucked up in this world.”

“Never fucking say ridiculous shit like that ever again, Firecrotch. Or I won’t do this.” He leaned in, over the top of the cat, and planted a wet, passionate kiss on Ian’s lips. “Now come in the bedroom and get on me already.”

 

* * *

 

Life was so good that a surprise call from Peterson two weeks later, in the morning, took Ian by surprise. With a stab of dread in his gut, he picked up. “Hello? It’s Ian.”

“Ian? This is Assistant U.S. Attorney Peterson,” came the response from the other end of the line. “Can you and Mickey be by yourselves at 4 p.m. today? I’d like to FaceTime you and talk about some really important stuff that came up with the case. We got a trial date and I’m going to have to come out to Buffalo and deliver you your subpoenas in person once the time comes. I just wanted to make sure we can talk in a private place soon, at a time when you’re both available.”

“Sure,” Ian said, nervous. “Do we have anything to worry about?” As if cognizant of Ian’s stress levels, Alex, the little black cat, came up, jumped on the end table and rubbed his face against the hand Ian wasn’t using to hold the phone.

“Let’s talk about it later,” Peterson said.

At 4 p.m., Ian and Mickey were holed up in their bedroom, watching on FaceTime on Ian’s phone as Peterson flipped through a large binder of files related to their case. He’d informed them they would be required to appear at the Dirksen Federal Building in Chicago, where the joint trial would be, and the feds would make arrangements for them to be safely brought to and from the courthouse. Everything was to be done under cover of night.

The trial was scheduled to start on April 10, 2020, roughly a year since Mickey was stabbed in the showers. They would not be needed for the entire trial, but Peterson didn’t know for how long they would be needed, either. The thought made Ian anxious.

The subpoena itself would contain such details as the exact date, time and place where each of them would have to appear - or rather, they would be brought there and back under the protection of the WITSEC program. At this point, it seemed so far away, but Ian knew the time would fly by. For now, he expressed his concerns about needing to be away from work for a long time.

“I’ll put in a word to have fake papers made for you - that you were subpoenaed to appear in court back in Summit County in Ohio because you witnessed some serious crime,” Peterson said. “We figure that the best policy is a little bit of honesty, but not enough to put you at risk. If you’ve been issued a subpoena, your employers have to keep your jobs open for you.”

Peterson sighed before continuing. “Times like these are why the WITSEC program used to discourage witnesses from getting jobs while the trials were still going on since you could be flying back and forth, but then they decided it’s best for you to be self-sufficient as quickly as possible. Less cost in the long run in terms of stipends.”

“That’s great,” Ian said. “But we’re talking about getting married shortly, and I’d like to get into an LPN program at one of the colleges here. Do you know what timetable we are working with? Because I want to be able to enroll and I can’t if I have to leave here for weeks.”

“Ian, they’re probably only going to need you for a week or so, but I can tell you they’re going to need Mickey for longer to do cross-examinations and testimony, since he was the victim of the crime and we’ll need an impact statement,” Peterson said. “Also - you both are thinking about getting married to each other? Well...personally, I’d advise you do it as soon as possible, because I just caught wind of a little strategy from the other side.”

“Oh?” Mickey’s eyebrows raised. “What the fuck are they gonna do to us?”

“We think the attorneys for Cortez will try and pit you against each other. They want to keep you as separate as possible. Eduardo Santos is the lead defense attorney for Cortez, the cartel scum...he’s on point and he’s a damn shrewd strategist. The Copelands have their own attorney. Slott has a public defender. I can tell you that Santos will likely try to use the two of you to shred each other on the witness stand. Be wary of that. Don’t fall for it.”

“No fucking way!” Ian yelled, indignant and furious. Mickey started cursing as well.

“Well, the joke is going to be on them, because that strategy is liable to not work as well if you’re married,” Peterson explained, snorting slightly in derision. “He has no idea you’re engaged yet. I’d love to see the look on Santos’ face when he finds out the two star witnesses for the prosecution are married to one another. Legally, I have to tell him about it ahead of time and can’t surprise him, but it’ll still throw a wrench in his case.”

“Fuck,” Ian said. “Does that mean I don’t have to testify against Mickey after we do end up married? I thought spouses legally don’t have to incriminate each other.”

Peterson sighed. “Unfortunately, spousal privilege doesn’t apply to criminal actions taken place before the marriage - like when Mickey got locked up for the stuff with Sammi - so they may try to get you on that. Just be as vague as possible without actually lying about it.”

“Fuck!” Ian said.

“Well, he’s fucking right. You didn’t actually see me do nothing, so you can’t implicate me,” Mickey said. “You fucking did see Sammi shooting at me, so roast that bitch on the stand and tell her to kiss my fucking ass while you’re at it.”

“Ian, since you told me you didn’t witness anything Mickey may or may not have done to Samantha Slott, tell the truth if they ask,” Peterson said. “But I’m thinking it’s more likely they’ll be able to sneak you two into Chicago together and keep you together if you’re married. My recommendation is to apply for a marriage license now.”

Ian and Mickey looked at each other. They had a wedding to plan.


	30. Unreal

“I still can’t fucking believe this is real.”

Ian wore a mix of shock, admiration, disbelief and love on his face as he and Mickey stepped out of City Hall in downtown Buffalo, marriage license in hand. He couldn’t believe this was real. They were a step closer to the finish line. All they did was pay $40 to the city clerk and sign the marriage license, but this felt heavier than a formality or a piece of paper. This was the biggest step in their entire relationship, _and it was finally real._

The clerk had told them their marriage license (with Ian Gallivan and Mickey McGuire, the names on their driver’s licenses and birth certificates), would be good from between 24 hours to 60 days from the day it was issued. Therefore, they planned to get married on December 13, a Friday, since government offices weren’t open on weekends and they would just take the entire day off, which was much easier for Ian to do on a Friday than a Saturday while working retail.

It was a no-brainer for them to have a simple wedding at City Hall, rather than a lavish affair. For one, they’d never done anything fancy, and this would be true to who they were. Since they needed at least one other witness, Ian decided to have Lip and Mandy stand up for him, and Iggy and Joey would do the same for Mickey. It was only fitting to have the people who’d stood by them, whom they trusted, to be there in a visible way.

The day they had gotten the news from Peterson and advice to get married by the trial, Ian and Mickey had picked out a unique, affordable set of wedding bands on Etsy. Ian had used his phone to search for “men’s wedding rings,” showing several options to Mickey before settling on a pair of tungsten rings: grey with black dusted centers, simple but attractive.

“We have two months before our marriage license expires,” Ian had said then. “Like these?” He showed Mickey the black and grey rings. “And want to get these engraved? There’s an option to do that, and they’ll still be delivered in less than a month if we order them now.”

“Yeah. Our names, the date, and ‘ _Under My Skin_.’ That reminds me most of us,” Mickey said, and so it was decided. _We both are well and truly under each other’s skin_ , Ian had thought, _far beyond just what Mickey told me that day under the bleachers._ It was the best representation and manifestation of their feelings for each other - the feeling they were already part of each other, even without a piece of paper - yet it felt necessary to formalize it for their own security, to make one fewer thing they had to worry about, that sense of comfort.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Ian replied. “It’s everything I’ve wanted since I was 15, and now I’m getting it after falling so hard and losing it all. I don’t deserve this.”

“Fuck that,” Mickey said. “Stop beating yourself up. You fucking deserve this and so much more. Fuck all of that stupid shit in the past because it’s all over now. Thank you so much for fucking standing by me and just being you.”

“What about the vows?” Ian asked. “You want to personalize them, or just use the generic ones they probably use for most of the weddings they do there?”

“I say we just write our own vows,“ Mickey said. “Be honest since we went far too fucking long trying to hide our feelings from each other, to the point it almost fucking ruined us more times than I even wanna think about. But no more of that shit. I say we just be as open in what we say as possible, without talking about where we came from. Figure that’s the least we can do, right? And Colin and Jamie are getting out next month, so not sure if they can come. Hope fuckheads will stay out of trouble long enough to be there.”

Ian snorted. He hoped so, since Mickey would keep them in line, Ian figured. He’d marveled at how, for all of their shit talk and ribbing, none of Mickey’s brothers genuinely seemed to give a shit about their brother being gay. As much as their past criminal antics worried Ian, he had little to worry about in terms of any homophobia beyond usual brotherly sniping at each other. Terry had clearly taught them how _not_ to act in that one singular, positive respect.

“So, what else do you want to do?” Ian asked. “Rent a couple of suits to get married in? We can’t fucking afford anything super expensive. Not sure how you want to do this.”

“I got one request: nothing that reminds me of my fucking idiotic wedding to Svetlana,” Mickey said, shuddering. “Since this is the real deal and not any of that phony-ass shit, I say we be honest and do something true to us. Go to a thrift store and buy a couple suits because fuck if I can tell the difference, anyway. Long as we look good in the pictures. Afterwards, go back to our apartment, or a restaurant, and drink lots of booze to celebrate.”

“Yeah, there’s only one problem: what do we do about Cat?” Ian asked. “If you have Iggy standing up for you at the courthouse, how do we not invite her since she’s Iggy’s girl? Someone is gonna blab if they’re shitfaced, and I’m worried.”

Ian sighed. This was going to be more complicated than they’d thought. The last thing either of them needed was someone getting drunk and blurting out information Cat didn’t need to know, thus putting all of them at risk of being found out. This was difficult.

“Hey,” Mickey said. “Don’t worry about that shit now, Grumpy. I got another idea. I say we get our ink fixed and make it even more permanent. Let’s hit up the place you went to get your ear pierced,” he gestured to the barbell through the top of Ian’s ear cartilage, “and get tattoos for each other. It’s a real fucking ‘us’ way of doing our shit.”

“Okay,” Ian said. “Only thing is they aren’t gonna be able to fit us in right away, so it’ll most likely have to wait until after the wedding. Let’s get on the bus back to Elmwood, and hopefully we can get them in the next couple of months. Shouldn’t be too long.”

They waited for only a short time at the bus stop outside City Hall. A short ride later, they signaled they had to get off, and the driver pulled up to their stop. They walked to the shop from there. Once they arrived, Ian pushed open the shop’s heavy door to find Brandy, the same employee who’d helped Ian with his piercing months ago, greeting them. She gave them a warm smile. “Hey, I remember you guys!” she exclaimed. “How is your ear healing?”

Ian showed her. “It looks great. What brings you back in here today?” she asked. “You thinking about getting some of the other piercings you were talking about last time?”

“Maybe another time,” Ian said. “We actually want to speak with one of the tattoo artists here about getting some bad ink covered up. We’re hoping they can do it.”

“Ah...that’s right. You were talking about doing that last time. Mike isn’t in today, but Stephanie is. You guys can talk to her about what you want to do,” Brandy replied.

Just then, Ian’s phone buzzed. It was Lip: _We got a big fucking problem. Frank and Fiona. Fiona ran off and we don’t know where the fuck she is...probably with Frank, because we haven’t seen him since he popped in like two weeks ago. Get over here and help!!!_

“Fuck,” Ian cursed. “Fiona’s gone. Look at this shit.” He showed Mickey his phone, but his fiance seemed relatively unphased and just shrugged, a silent _What else is new?_ Ian texted back, _I’ll be over in about half an hour or so. Probably nothing I can do anyway._

Ian and Mickey waited only a few minutes before a short, brunette woman with a small black stud in her nose, a lip ring and full sleeves on both arms approached them. “Hi, I’m Stephanie,” she said. “What did you guys have in mind for your coverups?”

“Well, we’re getting married soon, and we’d like to get coverups of some really shitty tattoos we got earlier. They’re both really bad.”

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations, you guys!” she said, sounding genuinely excited for these two strangers whom she’d just met. “When’s the big day?”

“December 13,” Ian told her. “And thanks for the well-wishes. Nice from somebody you just met - also, when can you fit us in?”

“Hmm. I will say I’m booked out for the next two months, but I can fit you in after that. I’d love to hear ideas for a custom piece. But first, show me what I’d be trying to cover,” Stephanie told them.

Ian removed his shirt and turned around to show her. “Oh...my. What were you trying to go for? Eek.” Stephanie was too stunned to say much else.

He sighed. “It was supposed to be a memorial piece for my late mom. My MOM. I told the artist her name, and he thought she was a dead girlfriend and not my mother.”

“Damn,” Stephanie said. “I’m so very sorry. But it’s all just black outlining, so I should be able to cover it up with dark shading and colors. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought about for a bit...I want to get something that means a lot based on our history. I think I want to get a tattoo of two crossed pistols, with letter ‘M’s on each of them, with a banner that says ‘ _Finally Free,’”_ Ian said.

 _It works, because coming out was his way of freeing himself from his shitty dad’s expectations, as well as how we both are free from the poverty we grew up around_ , Ian thought. _What better way to pay tribute to Mickey?_

“Wow, I love your idea,” the tattoo artist remarked. “That’s really deep, and it’s always going to have meaning for you...Mickey is your name? What do you have that you’d like covered up?”

Stephanie gaped at the mangled mess of Ian’s name on his chest. “Wow, that’s rough. Looks like it was done in prison or something. Is it an ex’s name?” she asked, having no idea how close she’d come to hitting home.

Mickey snorted. _If only she knew,_ Ian thought. “Dead friend of mine, but they fucked it up. I just want this shit gone. I want a chest piece of an orange tiger and a black panther. Scribbly, kind of artsy, bodies looped around each other. With ‘ _under my skin_.’”

Stephanie jotted down notes before speaking. “It sounds like you have given these plenty of thought, and I think I can definitely cover up this old line work,” she said, poking gently at Ian’s shoulder and Mickey’s chest.

They booked appointments; Mickey would get his tattoo done the week after their wedding, and Ian would get his two weeks after Mickey got tattooed. “I can put together something really nice, and I’ll have the stencil ready for when you both come in on the day of your appointments,” she added.

“Thank you so much,” Ian said as he and Mickey paid their deposits in cash and left.

“That’s it. We’re finally gonna be rid of that awful shit,” Mickey snickered as they walked along the street back to their apartment. “Still want me to cover up the one on my arm?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to, sooner rather than later, unfortunately,” Ian said. “It’s too obvious and it’s way too much of a giveaway, especially since the cartel dudes have seen it. You can’t keep it. As it is, it already fucking looks like cartel ink. It’s gotta go, too.”

“Fuck,” Mickey said. “You’re right.”

“Anyway...I’ll meet you at our place. I gotta go back to my siblings’ place and deal with their stupid shit. Fuck knows where Fiona is and she’s probably wandering the street.”

Mickey sighed. “Fuck dealing with shit. She’s a fucking adult and she can do whatever she wants. But do what you gotta. I’ll see you at home when you’re done.”

 

* * *

 

Ian arrived at his siblings’ house to see the place in general disarray, as was typical. He hadn’t been home in a few weeks, but thankfully Fiona hadn’t left in the car. Frank was nowhere to be found, as he’d expected. Frannie was playing with dolls on the floor by herself while Debbie was at work. Liam was at the kitchen table doing homework.

“Where is Lip?” Ian asked him. Liam jerked his head toward the closed door of Lip’s bedroom. Ian could hear ominous banging and pounding noises coming from behind it. Ian tentatively walked up to the door and knocked. “Lip?”

Lip flung the door open almost immediately. The sounds Ian had heard had been Lip throwing his things around the room in a temper tantrum. A broken stereo lay in two pieces on the floor, papers were strewn everywhere and Lip himself was sweaty and red-faced. Mandy wasn’t there, and presumably was already at one of her two jobs. _I suppose it’s better for him than drinking, or even smoking since he's trying to cut back with the baby coming,_ Ian thought of his brother's apparent outburst of anger.

“Fuck, Ian. Took you long enough to get the fuck over here! Jesus Christ,” Lip complained. “I’m stressed out, Mandy’s working at the fucking supermarket and I don’t know what the fuck to do about Fiona! She said she’d be back yesterday, and she isn’t yet! What the fuck?!”

Ian felt a twinge of guilt, remembering how at his worst, he did the same thing to his family and Mickey, the people he loved the most with all of his heart, more than he cared to recall. _But that’s in the past now,_ he thought. _I’m better. I’m still me, but a better, stable, healthier version of me. I can’t slip up again and let them down._

“Fiona will be fine,” Ian finally settled on saying. “We used to be Gallaghers, remember? Hell, we still are, even if we aren’t anymore in name. We all used to do the same shit.”

“Yeah. Not like this, though,” Lip said nervously. “She’s been drunk in the middle of the day. She hasn’t been taking Frannie to preschool while Debbie is at work, and she’s just been letting Liam do whatever he wants, too, when he’s not at school - thankfully, Liam is a good kid and hasn’t done anything terrible. I’ve been trying to get her to one of my AA meetings, but nothing doing. She isn’t gonna go unless I twist her arm to do it, and even then it’s doubtful.”

“Fuck,” Ian said with a heavy sigh. “I guess it’s like what we used to do: give each other tough love and let us work through our own shit until we hit rock bottom.”

“Yeah, but before when we were on the South Side, hitting rock bottom didn’t mean the possibility of someone blabbing to some stranger about our identities and causing all of us to get our rotting corpses thrown in a fucking alley with Colombian neckties,” Lip hissed back.

“Fuck you,” Ian shot back. “Nobody fucking knows where we are! All of Mickey’s former cartel associates and the fuck that I’m testifying against are still back in Chicago, and the rest have no fucking idea we’re in Buffalo!”

“Yeah, and that’s sure as hell not because Fiona is talking to Kev and V _back_ in Chicago when she isn’t supposed to be! She’s putting them _AND_ us at risk!” Lip shouted angrily.

“Enough fighting! Let’s just fucking work on figuring out where the hell Fiona is,” Ian said angrily, resigning himself to just working to end this. “And you know what else? Let’s work on fucking planning out our wedding and figuring out what the fuck we’re gonna tell Iggy’s girl when we pile into the goddamn courthouse and don’t invite her to the wedding!”

“Fuck Iggy’s girl!” Lip shouted. “Fiona is missing and it’s a fucking good thing she isn’t paying our bills and the stipend is still covering them for us, because she’s got no job. Hasn’t been looking for a new one, either, and the fucking stipend is about to run out!”

As if on cue, there was a pounding on the door, more akin to a herd of elephants trying to get in than an actual knock. Gritting his teeth, Ian walked over the the door and opened it. None other than Frank walked in, carrying a bedraggled, very drunk Fiona, mumbling something about how she had to call Kev and V and tell them something unintelligible.

“God fucking dammit, Frank!” Ian said. “While you were running around town with Fiona like a couple of fucking hobos, you couldn’t have had her _text_ us?!”

“Why, hello to you, too, my ungrateful offspring,” Frank said. “Since I could hear you shouting outside like a couple of uncivilized wretches, I just wanted to let you know that Fiona is, in fact, safe with me and very much here. We found a private spot to talk about our...issues, and Fiona will be fine. I’ll take care of her like the good drinker than I am. Spare me your self-righteous, holier-than-thou fucking AA quitter bullshit. None of it works. Better to just know your own limits and accept yourselves for who you really are.”

“This isn’t the time for that shit, Frank!” Ian yelled, indignant. “Fiona isn’t fucking supposed to be talking to Kev and V back home in the first place, and she’s still doing it!”

“Whaddabout Kev and V?” Fiona slurred. “Fuck. I’mmma gonna puke.”

Lip helped her lift her head while Ian got a wastebasket. No sooner had they gotten in front of her face than she retched and vomited into it loudly. Lip cringed, recalling how this brought him back to some unpleasant places when this used to be him. Ian was unphased, but annoyed. He had seen worse as an EMT in the past, and would in the future if he became a nurse.

“If it keeps her happy? Sure, why not? Kev and V have heard more secrets than a Vietnamese whorehouse,” Frank said. “They never blabbed when the cops were looking for Mickey. They never, ever blabbed when you, or I, or fucking Monica, the ravishing bitch, did anything...untoward. They knew everything, and yet chose to say nothing. We’ll be fine, because it’s in their best interest to keep their mouths shut. Think logically, son.”

“You’re full of shit!” Lip argued. “She shouldn’t be talking to them! And now that we finally got our sister - in one piece, or so it fucking appears - we gotta talk about Ian and Mickey’s wedding. They just got their marriage license!”

“Oh?” Frank said. “Well, congratulations. I must say you boys have come a long way since I first had the pleasure of running into you in such an interesting position at the Kash and Grab so many years ago, so I tip my hat to you both. Remember how I said true love isn’t supposed to be cute? Love is raw and destructive? You boys fill the bill. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some business to attend to. Take care of Fiona like she did you.”

With that, as suddenly as he’d appeared, Frank was in the wind, Lip and Ian cursing him out as they helped reposition Fiona on the couch.

 _Some things never change_ , Ian fumed. With Frank gallivanting around the city and Fiona passed, Lip cursed loudly as he kicked at a pillow that had fallen on the floor. “Thanks a fucking lot, Frank!” Lip shouted in frustration.

Just then, Lip’s phone chimed. As he looked down at the text message he had just received, the eldest ex-Gallagher brother seemed to visibly relax as he read what it said. “It’s Mandy. She’s getting out of work and just reminded me of her 18-week checkup next week. We’re gonna find out the sex of the baby when we go,” Lip declared.

This was no surprise, as Ian had been regularly texting Mandy to check up on the progress of his slowly-growing niece or nephew. They’d already had multiple discussions between the three of them about baby names. Mandy and Lip had decided on Natalie for a girl - an Anglicized version of her mother’s Slavic name - or Ronan for a boy. They hadn’t decided on middle names, but agreed they did not want them to be Amanda or Phillip.

“Next week, we’ll get to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl,” Lip said, fully calmed down by this point at the prospect of being able to find out if Mandy and he were going to be the parents of a baby girl or boy. “I can’t believe it.”

“If you don’t mind, is it okay if I go with you?” Ian asked. “I know it’s obviously Mandy’s moment and yours, but it would mean a lot if I could be with you guys when you find out the sex.”

“Sure thing, little bro,” Lip reassured him. “After all, you’re gonna be an uncle...again.”

 

* * *

 

“Today’s the day! We’re gonna find out if we’re getting a niece or nephew!” Ian said excitedly when the awaited day finally arrived. Mandy had to reschedule one appointment already because her doctor wasn’t in, but today they would find out the baby’s sex.

Ian was beside himself with glee, and even Mickey was happy. The last time he dealt with this sort of baby stuff, it had been with Yev and he wasn’t thrilled about any of it, as disappointing as that had been for Ian. This time, Ian wanted there to be none of that. He asked Mickey to come with him to Mandy’s 16-week prenatal appointment.

“Fine, as long as I don’t gotta talk to what’s-his-name, I’ll be good,” Mickey muttered. Ian hoped they’d behave themselves, since the last time his brother and fiancé spoke, Lip got punched in the face in the fight over Mandy.

“Fat fucking chance that you won’t, because he’s the father of Mandy’s baby,” Ian shot back. “Fuck that shit, Mickey. You gotta let it go.”

Mickey sighed, but reluctantly agreed. _Hopefully that puts this ridiculousness to rest, Ian thought to himself. Good fucking grief._

Ian’s phone dinged with a text from Lip: _Here._ Mickey and Ian started down the stairs and out of the house, to where Lip’s car was waiting with Mandy in the passenger seat.

“How are you feeling?” Ian asked as he got into the backseat next to Mickey.

“As well as I can be. I feel like I permanently am constipated but don’t have morning sickness anymore as bad as it was, thank fuck,” Mandy said. She put her hand on her belly, which had since swollen up with a small baby bump. “Too bad my back is hurting. And I had to reschedule my appointment, so it’s more like 18 weeks now.”

Ian gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder from his spot behind her in the car. As they pulled into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, Lip got out of the driver’s seat and got ready to open the passenger’s side door for Mandy. “I don’t need that shit,” she snorted. “Just go inside.”

Ian and Mickey snickered. Leave it to Mandy to not want to be treated like she was fragile - she may be pregnant, but she was still a Milkovich at heart, and some things never changed.

Once they arrived in the doctor’s office, Lip went in with Mandy when her name was called to go in to be seen by the OB-GYN, while Ian and Mickey stayed in the waiting room. Ian spent the time browsing the Internet on his phone, while Mickey halfheartedly searched through the magazines, presumably disappointed none of them were _Guns and Ammo_.

When they came back out, they were both grinning from ear to ear, and Mandy was holding the ultrasound picture she’d received in her hand. “We’re having a girl!” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much for being here for me. You’re both fucking amazing.”

Ian ignored the scandalized glances he got from other people in the waiting room due to Mandy’s foul mouth, while Mickey looked like the cat that just ate the canary. “Get her started on our shit young. And I’ll kill the first motherfucker who hurts her.”

Mandy just smirked. “Damn straight you will. Nobody’s gonna fuck with her.”

 

* * *

 

“Come on, sleepyhead.”

On Thanksgiving morning, these were the words that greeted Ian. He groaned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, vaguely aware of Mickey standing over him.

“Fuck, Mickey,” Ian groaned. “What time is it?”

“It’s fucking 10 a.m., mumbles,” came the reply. “Now get outta bed. We’re gonna get ready to go and have a big old jolly Thanksgiving party with your family at your house.” The comment came with only a hint of sarcasm. “I can hardly fucking wait.”

Ian sighed and dragged himself out of bed. He wasn’t depressed, only extremely tired, likely due to the fact they’d woken up in the middle of the night due to Colin and Jamie, who were home and out of prison, barging into the house like a herd of elephants after staying out late on their first night of freedom. Alex and Clayton then woke them up with their relentless meowing at roughly 6 a.m., because they were hungry and wanted food.

“Who all is coming? Colin and Jamie gonna sit down with my family? I thought most of your family didn’t even like being around them,” Ian said.

“Had to twist Jamie and Colin’s arms. Joey was fine with it as long as he was getting free food,” Mickey replied. He paused for a second, as if trying to weigh the impact of his words. “Let’s just say it ain’t gonna be your family you gotta worry about if your brother steps outta line.”

“Mick,” Ian said, exasperated. “Lip and your sister aren’t gonna split up. He’s not gonna leave Mandy again, or I’ll kick his sorry fucking ass myself! Lip fucking learned his lesson the first time. He was a dumbass for being an asshole to Mandy. Can we just move on and actually try to have a decent Thanksgiving dinner for once?”

“Sure thing. We’ll just hold hands by the fireplace and sing _Kumbaya._  In case you haven’t noticed, the only one who holds a grudge longer than a Gallagher is a fucking Milkovich,” Mickey snorted.

Ian swatted his head. “Are we still okay with calling each other that in private? I worry one of these days somebody is gonna use our former names in front of Cat or somebody else.” Of all of the possible people to whom someone might accidentally leak, the threat level seemed to be highest with Cat. She and Iggy were frequently over at her place, and they had no idea, or any form of damage control, of or over what kind of beans were spilled.

“I don’t fucking know. But I don’t think you gotta worry about anyone in my family spilling shit. We grew up around secrets and hiding shit - and bodies. I hid the fact that I’m gay from my shithead of a father for how long? You don’t gotta worry. I think we’re good in private, but don’t get used to calling each other that in public,” Mickey reassured Ian.

“Yeah, because you talking about hiding bodies is really reassuring,” Ian said sarcastically. “But you were the one who wanted to get out of bed and ready in the first place, so let’s take a fucking shower and get the hell outta here.”

They showered together, limiting their activity to just some ass-pinching on Ian’s part, then took the brisk walk over to the Gallivan house. It was late November in another Great Lakes city, so it was nothing they weren’t used to from back home in Chicago. Still, the wind bit through the jackets they wore, even on the short way there.

When they arrived, they didn’t knock because the door was unlocked. Mandy, who was already there, greeted Ian with a hug and Mickey with a hearty “fuck you,” which Mickey returned with a well-placed middle finger.

“Ian!” Debbie said. “And Mickey!” The redheaded former Gallagher sister ran over to hug them both. She always had taken more of a liking to Mickey than the rest of them had.

“Yeah, it’s Ian and...Mickey,” Lip said, a hint of sarcasm evident in his voice. Ian ignored him.

“How’s the food going? The rest of Mickey’s brothers are gonna trickle over at some point,” Ian said. “Colin and Jamie are out of jail, so they’re coming as well if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Lip said sarcastically. “Might as well bring over the whole fucking platoon while you’re at it.” Ian jabbed Mickey to keep him from saying anything back.

“Just putting the last touches on the turkey,” Fiona said, thankfully not looking nearly as drunk or hungover as she had the last time he’d seen her. She was still clutching a beer, but after what he’d seen during the time when Frank brought her home, this was a damn sight better than the version of his eldest sister he had, unfortunately, gotten then.

“I got the mashed potatoes,” Mandy said. “But I gotta take it easy or else Natalie is gonna fucking remind me that I gotta do it.”

“Let me take care of those,” Fiona said.

“You don’t have to. I got it,” Mandy said, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

Ian and Mickey helped around the house as they were asked, and helped where needed. By them, Iggy and Joey had arrived, along with Cat, followed by Colin and Jamie, both of whom had lumbered in at the last minute. They sat around the table and started digging in.

“Didn’t think I’d see you two here,” Lip commented. “Long time no see, Cheech and Chong.”

“Yeah, you knocked up our sister and we wanna be sure you don’t do nothing else,” Jamie said. “I got my eye on you. Colin, too.”

“Fuck off with that shit. I’m not a little girl and can handle my own shit now,” Mandy said. “But good to see you, too, you asswipes.”

“You guys are fucking hilarious,” Cat chimed in. “At least you guys have the balls to say that kind of shit to each other and nobody gets offended like a bunch of pussies. I’m gonna go have a late dinner with them after I leave here. Great. Wish me luck, because I’m gonna fucking need it.”

“Right?” Lip said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re the perfect fucking _Leave It to Beaver_ family. And we like it that way. We literally don’t even know where our fucking dick of a father is - probably out panhandling on the street someplace - and you know what? We don’t care.”

As if on cue, the door burst open and in stumbled Frank. “Well, happy Thanksgiving to you, too!” the ex-Gallagher patriarch shouted.

Lip groaned. “Great, Frank! We were just talking about you. Nothing good. The usual.”

Frank grumbled before settling down at the coffee table with a helping of turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes, along with a beer he’d grabbed out of the fridge. Ian shook his head in disgust and just kept on eating his own food.

As they were finishing up, Frank got up, tossed his dirty dish in the sink, and addressed Cat. “Who might we have here?” Frank asked. “You must be none other than Caitlin. Rumor has it that my own reputation precedes me here, but I haven’t heard enough about you, at least not as much as I might want to learn. Good catch, Ignatius.”

Ian snorted. He knew that Iggy’s former given name was Igor, but he’d changed it after entering the program. _At least he could keep the same nickname_ , Ian had figured.

“Cat,” she corrected him. “We’ve all got a lot of fucked-up shit in our past, but I don’t judge. We all make mistakes. I mean...my ex was a piece of shit who did nothing but lie to me about everything - who he was, where he came from and what kind of criminal shit he did in his past, so at least you guys are being honest with me. You seem like you keep all of your past shit in the open. That’s what I really fucking like about all of you guys.”

Ian choked on his iced tea. Lip had to clap him on the back, all while trying to hold back himself. Mickey did all that he could to bite back a sarcastic comment. Fiona just put her head in her hands. Iggy had a unreadable look on his face, but he still knew they were sunk. They’d have to either keep lying or spill the beans now to her, putting their safety at risk.

It was Frank, of all people, who broke the silence at the table. “Well, actually…”

“Shut the fuck up, Frank!” Lip exclaimed.

“No. You be quiet, Phillip. Is that any way to speak to your dear old dad?” Frank started. “I don’t want to say _TOO_ much, but let’s just say our family isn’t quite what it seems to be.”

“What do you mean?” Cat demanded. “Why did you all react the way you did? Is there something you’re hiding from me? Because I swear to fucking god, Iggy, if you are all hiding some big important shit or some fucking secret, I swear I’m gonna -”

“Actually, _Cat_ , there is something. Quite a big something,” Frank started.

“Frank, NO!” Ian shouted.

“We moved here from Akron because I got mixed up in criminal shit with Iggy’s dad. Their dad,” Frank said, gesturing to the ex-Milkovich men, who were staring in shock, “is in jail. I turned on him, and we got moved. It’s for our own good. Thanks to our fine government, _you_ will never know who we used to be and what we saw. Thanks for hearing me out, but I must be going. My honesty won’t be appreciated by most here.”

With that, Frank ran out the front door and left. Pandemonium broke out almost immediately. After Frank left, Cat got up and stormed out of the house with Iggy chasing after her. The entire rest of the household did their best (mostly failing) to restrain a furious Jamie, Colin and Joey, and given their sizes, this was no small task.

Lip screamed and hurled his phone across the room, not caring where it landed as the couch, thankfully, absorbed the blow. Meanwhile, Mandy looked furious as well, but Lip was too angry to notice anything else in that moment.

Iggy came back, not having been able to catch Cat before she got into her car and sped away. Mickey was nothing short of livid, his face tomato red. He turned to Jamie, Colin, Joey and Iggy.

“Why didn’t we kill that motherfucker when we had a chance?!” Mickey roared. “This is fucking unreal!”


	31. Wedding

In the week before Ian and Mickey’s wedding, things went into overdrive. In spite of the fact that they were having a simple courthouse wedding with only a few attendees, the ex-Gallaghers and Mandy were bustling around inside their house. They’d already worked on securing suit rentals for both of the grooms and making sure everything was in order, even though Ian told them he and Mickey didn’t need more help.

In the present moment, Ian was upstairs in Lip and Mandy’s room, trying on the suit they both had chipped in to rent for him, over Ian’s protests. He’d wanted them to keep trying to save money and use it to go toward supplies for their baby, but Mandy had just swatted at Ian’s hands when he tried to give pay her back. She insisted Ian take the money.

Lip turned to Ian and smiled. “It’s not every day your little brother gets married,” Lip said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just hope Frank stays away, because you remember what happened the last time he got near one of his kids getting married - his ass ended up off a bridge. Fuck that asshole. He ruined shit between Iggy and Cat. Fuck him, because we aren’t gonna let him get in the way of you and Mickey getting married.”

Ian thought to himself that Frank was the least of their worries, and he privately decided that even if Frank did show up, he wouldn’t let that get to him. He hoped Frank would just fuck off, but Frank was an annoying mosquito at this point. Next to being threatened by Terry Milkovich, facing down cartel grunts and now the prospect of having to testify against one of them, Ian privately thought: _I can handle my shithead father._

“It’s nice to be planning a wedding that doesn’t involve any of the usual shit…grief, heartbreak, drinking away your sorrows because the love of your life is marrying a Russian whore. Not that I have any room to fucking judge anymore, given that’s basically what I ended up being after I went away and when I worked at the club,” Ian said morosely.

“Hey...I really don’t wanna have to bring this up, but Mickey never talks about shit like this to us,” Mandy inquired. “Do you know why Mickey fucked Svetlana if he was seeing you this entire time? I remember that Dad came home one day, announcing Lana was pregnant like he’d just won the fucking lottery and threatened Mickey if he didn’t marry her, but why did he fuck her in the first place without a fucking condom? Jesus Christ.”

Lip stayed quiet. After the argument he’d had with Mickey, he knew the truth, but Lip also knew it wasn’t his place to say anything and waited for Ian’s lead.

“I don’t know if Mickey would want you to know, but I’ve been carrying it around for so long and it affected us so much,” Ian started. “I don’t really want to talk about it. He told Lip already, though, but don’t make me say it.”

Mandy nodded. “I won’t make you say it. I’ll listen if you feel like it’s something you need to talk about, but only if you feel comfortable.”

Ian closed his eyes and answered, “You can figure it out. It was your dad.”

Mandy’s jaw dropped. “Jesus fucking Christ. I had no fucking idea. At the time, I just assumed he was being an asshole like usual, and once I found out about you and him, I assumed he was trying to ‘get over being gay’ by fucking her. Now it all makes sense...and I fucking pressured him! I pressured him that whole time to be involved in Yev’s life and be a decent dad, not like our shithead of a father who did nothing but abuse us our whole lives. I...I don’t know what to say to that, Ian, other than I’m so fucking sorry.”

Ian sighed. “You can’t be sorry for something you didn’t know...but I think he wants to find Yev, but it’s too dangerous to look for him and reconnect. He’s talked to me about wanting to find him, but he doesn’t want to snitch on Lana and get her deported back to Russia. I don’t know what else to do. Mickey asked me not to ask Peterson about it.”

“Fucking hell…” Mandy said, trailing off. “That’s some heavy shit, and if Mickey actually opened his mouth to talk about his feelings instead of letting you run off to the fucking Army, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten into the shit you did...but then he wouldn’t have been my asshole brother if he had actually talked about his feelings. Fuck. I feel terrible.”

“After all the years, it feels weird, like it happened to someone else. Mickey and I never even talked about it at all, not until the time where Mickey ended up hitting Lip when he came over here to pick a fight,” Ian snorted. “But I don’t fucking blame him.”

Mandy looked as though she wasn’t sure what to make of Ian, and she took a long while before speaking again. “Yeah...I guess we all have shit in our past. I mean, guess our asshole father took advantage of both of us. Thanks for telling me, because that means a lot and I totally get why you never talked about it before now. I probably never will get it outta Mickey, but at least that explains why he felt how he did about Yev.”

Ian was glad this was out in the open. His best friend and future sister-in-law knew the truth. But that was in the past now, a dirty memory. Now was time for them to keep planning for the future, for Ian to marry the love of his life.

 _Terry lost. We won. Terry’s just an ugly, sad shit stain now, who is still living in his house and is going to die alone like he deserves._ The thought brought a smile to his face. _The karma bus hit Terry as hard as Mandy hit Karen._

“What?” Mandy asked. “You got this funny look on your face. What’re you thinking?”

“I just thought about how Terry is still living alone, miserable in his house without any of us there with him,” Ian said. “He’s finally getting what he deserves. He never deserved anything - a family that cared about him, and there he is.”

“Yeah, he is,” Mandy agreed, “but who cares now about that asswipe? We’ve got lives ahead of us and a wedding to plan.” She ambled over to the bed and sat down, rubbing her back before settling her hands on her growing abdomen.

“Right?” Ian said. “It feels so real now, since it’s going to be happening next week, but in a weird way it doesn’t. For the longest time, I thought Mickey was on a beach in Mexico, enjoying the sun and the glory. What did he do? He ended up working for a cartel and then turning himself in to be with me. I guess life has a funny way of creeping up on you like that.”

“It does,” Lip said. “But hey - cartel or no cartel, we’re gonna be going to the courthouse next week to see you and your ghetto boyfriend get hitched, so let’s work on that. Wanna read over your vows again? We can tell you if they suck.”

 

* * *

 

_December 13, 2019_

The night before their wedding, Ian spent the night at his siblings’ house. While they weren’t huge followers of tradition, there was still something symbolic and strangely comforting about being able to be with his siblings for the night, one last time, before they headed to the courthouse. As it was, Ian was too much of an amalgamation of nervous and excited to sleep much.

Since they did not need to be at the courthouse until 4 p.m., Ian, his siblings and Mandy spent the morning playing board games and having breakfast and lunch. As it got later, they spent most of their time fussing with Ian, making sure his rented suit fit him, Fiona pinning down the few areas where it didn’t quite fit.

As Ian put on his suit and tie and took a look in the mirror, all of the thoughts he’d been having over the past few weeks came flooding back. He and Mickey were finally going to be united in marriage, in a civil ceremony at City Hall downtown. He still couldn’t believe good things were finally coming his way.

Fiona and Lip took charge of most of the morning, with Fiona putting some gel into Ian’s hair and flattening out the flyaways, much like she’d done when Lip, Ian and Carl were young boys. She was the rock that held their family together, and even with all of her latest struggles, she was more like a mother than Monica had ever been.

After Lip went into the hallway to the bathroom, Ian took a closer look at Fiona. Seeing that she did actually seem to be in a better place than she had been lately, Ian figured that now was as good of a time as any to say ‘thank you,’ and possibly find out how she’d been doing. It took his mind off of the annoying jitters in his stomach.

“Thank you for everything, Fiona,” Ian said as she planted the last strand of red hair behind her brother’s ear. “I know you’ve been going through your own shit, and I haven’t been there for you. You were there for me to try and bail me out of jail, but like an idiot, I refused it because I couldn’t see how bad off I was. You stood up for me in front of those fools I let get into my head. I got tossed in jail, and was too wrapped up in my own shit to be there for you. And I made you leave the South Side because of me and Mickey.”

“Hey,” Fiona said, leaning her brother’s head down to look at her. “You didn’t fuck anything up. We came here willingly. We could have fucking say no, we wanted to stay on the South Side. Because that’s always gonna be a part of us, no matter where we go or what we end up doing. But we came _FOR YOU_. We came because we wanted to support you, and if I got my own shit to sort out, then I got my own shit to sort out.”

“Do you really mean that? I...I don’t know what to say,” Ian babbled.

“Just worry about having an awesome fucking day with the man you love - the man you’ve always loved since you were kids. I didn’t know about you two before you went off to the Army - before you came back and were in such a low place. But I saw how Mickey was there for you...how he came with me to visit you in the hospital. How he told the people at the front desk he was your boyfriend after hiding for so long. I loved that.”

She took a deep breath, then sighed. “After he went away, I thought he was bad for you. Like I’ve told you already, I compared him to Jimmy/Steve. I really did think Mickey would put a match to your life after you’d gotten everything back in order, your EMT job, your mental health. But now...I see how you’re both settled in your new lives and both working to support yourselves, legally, I see you were really meant to be together.”

Ian gave her a hug. “Are you doing okay now? I worry about you.”

“Yeah,” Fiona said. “I guess what I hate most, more than missing Kev and V - I called them at the Alibi from pay phones, since I’m not _that_ stupid to use my phone and their number - is not being able to share what I’m going through with a partner. Not a fuck buddy, someone I can fucking _confide_ in, because I can’t just talk about this with anyone. It’s so fucking lonely only having you guys to talk to about the stress of this shit. And then on top of it, Frank goes ahead and blabs about us like an idiot. Hopefully Cat can’t figure out much.”

Everyone was livid with Frank. They’d told him, in no uncertain terms, to stay the fuck away, and made sure they didn’t tell him when Ian and Mickey’s wedding was to keep the ceremony on lockdown as much as possible. Lip had called a locksmith to change the house’s locks so Frank couldn’t get into the upper apartment. Instead, Mickey and Ian would live there, which had been Fiona’s idea after she had washed all of the Frank grime away.

Before leaving, Lip gave Mandy a ride back to the McGuire residence so she could take all of her brothers to the courthouse. After Lip returned, he greeted them with a shouted, “Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” They piled into their car, with Ian comparing the situation to a clown car - but Liam again offered to ride in the trunk.

On the way there, Ian regaled them with stories of his and Mickey’s earliest years in their relationship, before anyone else knew and Ian was a dirty little secret. It was strange because those days now seemed so far away, and it was surprisingly easy to be able to talk in detail about the more positive aspects of their relationship as kids.

In most ways, Ian didn’t miss those days at all, since he hated that they had to hide. On the other, they were living in the moment back then, enjoying stolen moments when they could get them. Now they were safely on the other side, there was a sense of nostalgia. Back then, Ian was able to tear down Mickey’s walls, brick by brick. He was just thankful the walls came crashing down, and in the end it was all worth it.

 

* * *

 

Once they’d wrangled the parking in downtown Buffalo and everyone arrived at City Hall, Ian and the ex-Gallaghers met the judge who would be performing the ceremony. His name was Kevin Watson and he was a tall, heavyset man with a kind smile. He gave off an air of benevolent but strong authority. He figured Mickey would have no love for judges, but thankfully Mickey had expressed no strong feelings.

Ian and his siblings filed into the courtroom, followed by Mickey, Mandy, Iggy, Joey, Colin and Jamie from Mandy’s car several minutes later. Mickey looked annoyed with his brothers, as usual, but his face seemed to light up, in the unique and endearing way that it always did, as soon as he saw Ian standing there, waiting. _My husband_ , Ian thought.

Now that everyone who would be participating was present, Watson explained what would be done, although there was not much to rehearse. All they would be doing was reciting vows after Judge Watson gave the statement of their names, their intention that they’d be marrying of their own free will, the recitation of vows, and the presentation of the rings as they promised to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives.

As his eyes scanned the room, Ian realized Frank was nowhere to be found. _Thank fuck,_ Ian thought. _All we would have fucking needed was a repeat of Fiona’s wedding._

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Ian Gallivan and Michael McGuire, to honor their commitment to one another as husbands,” Watson said.

Ian privately thought he still wasn’t used to their names, and he probably never _would_ be used to them, but this was the reality of their lives in witness protection.

“Ian and Michael: are you marrying today of your own free will? Is there any legal reason why you should not be joined in marriage?”

Both answered in the positive, and then the negative.

“Our grooms have requested that they be able to read the vows they have written to one another,” Watson continued as both men pulled out crinkled pieces of paper.

“Mickey,” Ian said. “I promise never to leave you. I promise to be there for you when you need it, like you deserve and always have deserved. I’ve loved you since I was 15, and it was really hard to be apart from you, with all of the obstacles and hurt we’ve gotten through. I thought I was broken and couldn’t be loved, and you came back to me when I needed you most. I love you so much, and you’re it for me, and I promise to let you know that every single day. I love you, Mick.”

“Ian,” Mickey began. “I promise I love you, too. It’s a simple thing, but I wanted to deny so hard I was attracted to you. Now that I have you, I promise to be more than a fucked-up piece of trash, and it meant so much that you gave me a chance to be more. We lost each other many times over the years, but found each other again. Now I ain’t going nowhere. You’re it for me, too, Ian. I promise to stay with you through thick and thin, good times, bad, sickness, health, all that shit - and I promise to never forget that. Ever.”

Lip and Iggy then presented the rings, and Watson led them through the required script again as they put the rings on each other’s fingers.

“Let it be known that both Ian and Michael accept these rings as a symbol of their love for one another. And now, I ask: do you, Ian, take Michael to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Ian answered.

“And do you, Michael, take Ian to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish him, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Mickey said.

“By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you legally married. You may now kiss.”

Raucous applause ensued, as did all of the flashes from everyone’s smartphones that captured the moment forever. Colin and Jamie whistled loudly, and Fiona wiped a tear from her eye from seeing her little brother so happy. Ian looked out at them and smiled. Even Liam, who wasn’t even old enough to remember when Mickey and Ian publicly came out as a couple, looked thrilled for them, holding up Fiona’s phone to take some pictures of his own. Ian had never felt so happy in his entire life. It meant so much to him that his family could witness it.

He only wished Carl, the only one missing from the fold who actually mattered, could be here, but he was still in military school. He had chosen to stay there, and for now, it was simply too risky for him to leave to come here. It was also a violation of WITSEC program rules.

Ian felt a twinge of sorrow, but if their paths did ever bring them back together after the trial was over and the cartel was a memory, he’d show Carl the video. If nothing else, Carl would be good for a few snarky remarks where he and Mickey could reminisce about their time in juvie.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. After signing their marriage certificate - _it was finally official, Ian thought_ \- and leaving the courthouse, Lip called an Uber to take Ian and Mickey to a grill and brewery in downtown Buffalo to celebrate. That way, none of them would have to worry about wrangling seats in the car, or having to make two trips to get all of the family members there.

Once they arrived, the group had dinner before enjoying several pitchers, and various other containers, of beer (besides Lip and Ian, the latter of whom had one) and each other’s company. It was a low-key night, which had to be that way by both necessity and choice.

Ian and Mickey talked and laughed, trying to mingle with Ian’s family - including Fiona, who was trying to moderate her drinking, and Lip with an iced tea. Ian opened the cards from everyone, pocketing the checks and cash. At least they’d have some spending money.

Iggy, Joey, Colin and Jamie were having a raucous game of pool, with curse words tricking over to where most of them were standing. Iggy seemed to be drunker than the others were, Ian noticed, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Iggy and Cat had talked about the incident with Frank. They’d agreed that, while lying about his past wasn’t Iggy’s fault, Cat couldn’t be with someone with a secret double life, so she broke up with him. Privately, Ian was glad, because now they wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around her - even if it meant he’d have to deal with a moping Iggy now. At least he’d be happy for just this one night, so no one tried to stop him from drinking as much as he wanted.

Ian’s mind always went so quickly, an endless stream of ideas, the racing thoughts that slowed down a bit now that his meds were in order. But tonight, all of his thought processes seemed to circle back around to one main, central thought and idea.

 _This is it_ , he thought. _This is finally it. We’re married, and love won out after all of this work, all of the heartache and stress over the years - being separated, getting my heart broken when he married Svetlana, when he should have been married to ME. I can’t believe it. Mickey is my lawfully wedded husband, and fuck anyone who has a problem with it. No cartel, Frank, Terry, or anyone else can stand in our way._

_I fucking love him so much._


	32. Afterparty

Ian was truly grateful for the chance to be able to celebrate his nuptials with his and Mickey’s families, newly joined. However, the redhead would be lying if he said he wasn’t really just going along with the motions for the rest of the night as Mickey’s brothers got drunker, Fiona and Lip got more and more annoyed by the inebriated people in their family and elsewhere in the restaurant, and it got late in the evening. While Mickey had a few, he wasn’t so drunk as to where consent would be dubious. Ian planned to make full use of that once they got home.

“Come on,” Lip said. “I think we’ve seen enough. I’m gonna drive back in a few with Fiona, Debbie and the kids, and I’ll call another Uber for you guys. Hang onto my phone so you can see when it’s coming. I figure you aren’t gonna want to be around us for the rest of the night, anyway...here’s the key for the upstairs apartment, since I guess you’re gonna be living there now. Mandy’s the DD for her brothers. Don’t worry about them.”

Ian took the key and Lip’s phone. He and Mickey looked at each other. Now that they were married, it made sense they celebrate their marriage in the best way they knew how: the way they’d connected best with each other since the incident with Kash’s gun so many years ago.

Thankfully, his family of origin kept the snark levels down to a reasonable minimum, and Ian didn’t feel like fielding any questions about his and Mickey’s sex life with his brothers-in-law. They seemed too busy with their pool game and their alcohol to care anyway, or so it seemed.

Once the Uber arrived, Ian and Mickey bid goodbye to everyone, Mickey flipping his brothers the bird when they did indeed make lewd comments about their brother being the bitch and taking it. Ian turned bright red and ushered Mickey out the door as he spewed profanities.

“Fucking Jamie and Colin,” Mickey stewed as he got into the backdoor of the Uber and settled in, buckling his seatbelt as Ian sat down next to Mickey and groped around for his own. The driver seemed to accept that they had left the passenger seat empty, not commenting or otherwise seeming to think it was odd as he greeted them.

Once they were settled in and the car started moving, Ian whispered to Mickey, “Who cares about them? They can chirp, whistle and make comments all they like, but I get you for the night. Pretty clear who the fucking winner is in this scenario. They get to go home and jerk off.”

Mickey, throwing caution to the wind, said “Come here,” in a low, purring, lecherous voice as he wrapped his arms around the redhead. He leaned in and licked and sucked Ian’s neck as the ginger nervously cast his eyes toward those of the Uber driver. If the stranger noticed what they were doing, he didn’t seem to care as he kept his eyes on the road and his GPS in order to navigate the car back to his clients’ house in one piece.

“We’ve only got like 10 minutes in here before he gets us back to the house,” Ian hissed at Mickey. “Unless you want to do shit here?” He raised an eyebrow. The noise of the music coming from the Uber driver’s car stereo hopefully masked their muted voices.

“So? We’ve done plenty of shit in 10 minutes before,” the brunet hissed directly into Ian’s ear. “Hell, we can do plenty in five. You want to do this? We don’t have to.”

“Yes,” Ian said in a choked-out whisper as Mickey reached his hand down to where Ian’s suit pants were noticeably tented out from the large bulge they contained. Mickey ran a hand over Ian’s growing erection and fondled it through the pants as Ian struggled to stay quiet.

By now, Ian was convinced the Uber driver couldn’t possibly have not noticed, but chose not to say anything. _Fucking bless him_.

“Careful, big guy. You don’t want to risk ripping these with what you’re packing inside of them,” Mickey snickered as he felt how aroused Ian was getting from this. “But I can help with that.” Taking off his suitcoat and covering the pitched tent with it, Mickey unzipped Ian’s pants enough to stick his hand down the front of them. Ian coughed to cover up the sound that escaped his throat.

“Mmm,” Mickey said waspishly into Ian’s ear. “This does fucking turn you on, doing this here. Fucking knew it. My husband likes that we’re doing this here. I want you to pull down my pants and stick this into me as soon as we get home.”

Ian had no idea how he had blood left anywhere else in his body at this point. Just as Mickey’s fingers curled around his cock and began to pump it slowly, the accursed driver announced they were at their destination as the car pulled into their driveway. Ian cursed under his breath as he zipped his pants back up. He hoped his cheeks weren’t bright red as they they got out of the car, Ian with Mickey’s suitcoat strategically placed in front of him as he thanked the driver.

“Thank fuck he didn’t seem to care,” Ian said as the car pulled away from their house.

“Fuck the car and fuck me instead,” Mickey growled. “Get the fuck inside... _now_. Fuck me like the dirty slut you are.”

Ian loved it when Mickey became dominant like this, and he wasn’t shy about letting the brunet know that, either. “Mmm,” Ian said. “You’re one to talk about me being a slut when you always take my cock while moaning like one.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mickey taunted. “And you’re the one who’s gonna be moaning and whining like a little bitch while I ride your big, hard cock into the upstairs sofa. Nobody else is gonna be there to walk in on us. Fucking love it.”

“Yeah?” Ian purred back at him. “You want to ride me on the couch? Fucking show me who you belong to, for good...show me whose ass this is?” Ian reached his hand around and gave the ass in question a hard pinch through his suit pants, which coaxed a low moan out of the smaller brunet’s throat. Ian was so hard, he didn’t know how his pants weren’t ripping.

“Ian…” he moaned. “Let’s get upstairs. I want it so much and I’m fucking tired of waiting! Wanna bang my husband so fucking bad.”

“Mmm,” Ian said, their hands and bodies a flurry of tangled limbs as Ian unlocked the door to the house and they staggered up the stairs, unable to keep their hands off of each other as they climbed to their new apartment - they finally would have a home of their own, with no pesky siblings to bother or give them shit for being loud.

The stumbling pair of bodies burst into the living room, Ian kicking the door closed behind them as he sucked on Mickey’s neck, leaving marks neither of them cared about. Both Alex and Clayton came up to see what was going on, then scattered in opposite directions, startled by the sudden, jerky movements. The days of having to be cautious, of having to avoid leaving any visible marks were long gone. The thought of being able to visibly mark his husband turned Ian on so badly, he could hardly stand it. He needed Mickey, now.

“Lemme go get the lube, use the bathroom and get cleaned up,” Mickey said. “After that, I’m gonna ride you into that couch,” he gestured to the piece of furniture in question, “I’m gonna fucking ride you until you’re screaming my name. Never gonna let you forget who you belong to.”

Ian groaned. “Fucking bossy bottom.”

They considered their relationship dynamics to be equal - Ian no stranger to roughing up Mickey, slapping him around when they fucked and calling him names. But it was still obvious Mickey was in control most of the time. Ian recalled how Mickey had once said being the bottom didn’t mean he was a bitch, and never was it more obvious to Ian than now.

_If this means I have to be Mickey’s bitch for the rest of our lives, I’m more than fine with this. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that beautiful man. Fuck, I’d walk around with a damn collar and leash if it meant I’d be with him, near him, get to kiss, hug and hold him._

When Mickey came back with the tube of lube, he sauntered over to Ian, who was already sitting on the couch, and attacked Ian like a hungry shark that had entered chum-filled waters. He hastily helped Ian out of his suit coat, shirt and pants, still having the presence of mind to avoid tearing the rental, while Ian helped Mickey out of his own formal wear. Mickey got up to drape the items over the arm of one of the dining room chairs before rushing back over. The brunet hopped into Ian’s lap to continue what they started.

They resumed their passionate make-out session, Ian peppering Mickey’s neck with more licks and sucks. Mickey moaned as he threw his head back and enjoyed the attention Ian was lavishing on him, but Ian never lost sight of what Mickey had told the redhead he’d do when they got home. Ian, still clad in his boxers, was sure there was a huge wet spot on the front of them, exacerbated by how Mickey was rutting his own cock into Ian’s as they resumed passionate kissing, Ian slipping his tongue into Mickey’s mouth.

The smaller man moaned again before pulling away. “Take these fucking things off now,” he growled at Ian, every fiber of the redhead’s being fired up and eager to remove the offending boxers from both of their bodies to allow for the skin-to-skin contact that they both craved.

Ian tore off his underwear, followed by Mickey’s. The brunet climbed back onto Ian, his milky-white thighs straddling the redhead’s pale, freckled ones. Ian’s fingernails dug into the back of Mickey’s neck as he pulled his husband closely into him to enjoy this moment.

Ian held Mickey close to him for only a second before the older man got up, grabbed the lube and applied it to two of Ian’s fingers. “I want you to fucking prep me for you,” Mickey said, voice low and thick with lust and unspoken promises that this would be a ride Ian would never forget, both because of context and the exquisite pleasure his newly-minted husband would give.

Ian obeyed, taking the lube and warming it between his hands a little bit so it wouldn’t be ice cold. He thought to himself, in between lustful thoughts of how badly he wanted to fuck Mickey, that this was a ritual they had done so many times before, but this time was so different - they were finally a married couple, and as rough and rushed as this seemed with both of them just wanting each others’ bodies in the most carnal of ways, Ian knew it was an act of love.

After making sure that his fingers had a sufficient amount of lube, Ian lowered his fingers to Mickey’s tight ring of muscle as the brunet slightly raised his hips to give Ian room for his hand. Mickey keened as first one, then two, of the redhead’s long fingers breached his sensitive opening. Ian knew Mickey could easily take him like this, but he still wanted to exercise care because he so hated the thought of hurting him.

Mickey, however, was having none of it. “Fucking stop that shit. You married me, so you oughta know you ain’t gonna break me. I said I’m gonna ride you into this couch until you fucking scream for me, and I’m gonna damn well do it.”

Ian was speechless for a second, then indeed let out a loud moan, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Mickey forced himself down onto Ian’s hard cock, the head breaching his opening first until the backs of Mickey’s thighs were flush against the tops of Ian’s own. Ian dug his fingers into the soft flesh of Mickey’s hips as Mickey rode him roughly, fingers leaving rows of little half-moon shaped nicks in the skin there.

“Fuck,” Mickey panted, eyes blown with lust. “You like that? ‘Cause you feel so good filling me up, but it’ll feel better if I do this.”

He climbed further onto the couch, planted his feet on either side of Ian’s thighs and, holding the backrest of the couch to use as leverage, continued to bounce on Ian’s lap, his strong thigh muscles straining as he leaned down to continue kissing Ian, stifling his moans.

Mickey bit down hard on Ian’s bottom lip as small whines and moans continued to escape the redhead’s mouth. The smaller man readjusted himself again so he was sitting back into Ian’s lap. “Fucking scream for me, Ian.”

Mickey raised his hips higher and slammed back down onto Ian as hard as he could, and Ian left scratches on his husband as he nearly screamed, “Fucking hell, Mickey! _Fuck_!” Overcome with desire and willing away the tightening in his balls that meant he was getting close to finishing, Ian quickly recovered, growled and grabbed Mickey under his thighs, scooping him up.

As Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist, Ian stood up, allowing the smaller man to cling to him with his arms around the redhead’s neck. Ian spun them around, with Mickey landing on his back on the couch. The ginger continued his hard pounding between Mickey’s spread legs as the latter lay on his back, sobbing out from stimulation of his most sensitive areas, all semblance of his tough guy persona long gone.

“Wanted me to scream your name? Now you’re gonna scream out _mine_ ,” Ian said through gritted teeth, breath hitched due to the pressure of trying to make this last as long as he could and get Mickey off. “Say my name.”

“Fuck! Ian!” Mickey whined, reaching between their bodies to grab his own red, throbbing, leaking cock, knowing it wasn’t going to take long at all before he finished. “Fucking shit! Motherfucker, fucking fuck, I’m gonna…”

His sentence ended in a choked gasp. His cum spurting out between them as Ian tensed through his release, filling Mickey with the product of his orgasm as Mickey panted underneath him, trying desperately to catch his breath.

As they came down from their climaxes, Ian still on top of Mickey, Ian leaned in to kiss Mickey. It wasn’t the first time they had mind-blowing sex, and it really wasn’t different from many of their other particularly steamy romps. Their lives wouldn’t really be changing much now that they were married, but as Ian lazily made out with his husband, he realized something.

 _Like hell it’s just a fucking piece of paper_.


	33. Christmas

For Ian, the biggest benefit of being married, outside of declaring devotion to each other, was  _ not _ the security of knowing that they’d now be housed together in the Chicago safehouse the feds would arrange for them during the trial. It was something else Ian preferred not to think about, but it was a necessary evil all the same.

Although it stressed Ian out to no end, he considered the added peace of mind of knowing that if, God forbid, something happened to one of them - during the period leading up to the trial - the other would be able to make medical decisions on behalf of the injured spouse. As it was, it pained him to know that if Mickey had not survived the hit in the Beckman showers, or if he were permanently incapacitated, there was nothing Ian legally could have done.

By now, it was winter in Buffalo, although there was relatively little difference between here and Chicago. To their dismay, however, the week after their wedding, Peterson contacted them with unwelcome information. They were not going to be subpoenaed to testify until much later in 2020 due to legal wrangling. Most of it was due to matters that were outside of their ability to comprehend, and no new date was set for further proceedings until the issues were settled.

Peterson had FaceTimed them to explain that the lawyers for the defendants had filed a motion for a change in venue as well as a motion to sever, meaning they were calling foul on four defendants having a joint trial in spite of the overlapping evidence. Therefore, the “trial” they were expecting would be split into multiple trials.

“Is anybody gonna fucking snitch? You know, South Side and all,” Mickey asked.

“I bet the first one to do it is gonna be Sammi, but we’ll need her fuckboy to roll on her first. Because he sure as fuck doesn’t want a rape conviction. It’s bad enough he was a CO and he might get thrown in gen pop,” Ian added. “Fun times.”

“No one’s fucking snitching!” Peterson said, sounding exasperated. “That’s the fucking problem!”

“Hold on! What’s going to happen with Sammi?” Ian asked, shocked by the outburst from the normally mild-mannered, professional attorney. “How many times are we gonna have to go back and forth to Chicago?”

“I’m going to have to get back to you on that later. I have an urgent meeting I have to go to,” Peterson said hastily. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Ian and Mickey clamored to ask more questions, like when they’d be able to testify against Sammi, but to their dismay, he hung up.

“Fucking lawyers!” Mickey vented. “I mean, I ain’t used to being on this side of the law, but yeah, this time it fucking sucks that they can’t just throw ‘em in jail and be done.”

“Yeah, it sucks. There’s so much shit that I don’t understand, even if Peterson did do his best to explain it,” Ian said. “I’m glad I pled out and didn’t have to go through this, but it makes sense that it wasn’t gonna just be cut and dry. The thing I hate the most is that I won’t be able to enroll in an LPN program until this is all done.”   


“Yeah,” Mickey said. “But at least you get to get your tattoo fixed today. It’ll be fucking kickass. And then on Thursday, I’ll be able to get your fucking mangled-ass name covered up on mine. Least it’ll still be something that means shit to us.”

“And then next week, it’ll be Christmas,” Ian said. “I got some money saved up from the pet store, but bear in mind that we gotta start paying rent. Stipend stopped, so it looks like Frank, wherever the fuck he is, is gonna have to go back to Social Security scams again. The good thing is we’re gonna be splitting our rent  with both of our sets of siblings, so it’ll be dirt cheap.”

“Yeah. Fucking Uncle Sam money stopped...for now,” Mickey said. “Guess they can only pay us for so long before it gets too expensive. They should be paying us for this shit.”

“They will be paying us. Not a lot, but they will be paying us for testifying,” Ian explained. “But the big stipend from the program stops.”

“Big deal,” Mickey scoffed.

 

* * *

 

Ian found the sound of the tattoo machine mildly comforting, which was odd given the fact that it was inserting ink into his skin. He had become somewhat numb to the pain.

He’d already sat through the awful Monica tattoo that he was in the process of getting covered up, and the one on his ribs, which he had gotten during his ill-fated stint in the Army, was much more uncomfortable than this one was. Still, it was nice to have Mickey here with him for this one, since both of his other ones had come during some of the worst periods in his life - both of which coincided with when he didn’t have his now-husband.

“How’s it coming along?” Ian asked. He’d already had the chance to look at the stencil, unlike when his previous “artist” had attempted a disastrous freehand piece. At least now Ian knew better than to trust any moron with an instrument in a tattoo parlor.

“It’s coming along really well,” Stephanie, the artist, said. “I’m turning the woman’s breasts and part of her torso into the grips and magazines of the crossed guns. It’ll be pretty easy to do, since this linework wasn’t terribly complex to begin with. What a hack job…but thankfully, this new design is gonna look pretty awesome from what I can tell.”

Ian tried his best to keep breathing, hating the part where he had to lie still and not move since his arms were starting to fall asleep in this position, and Mickey alternated between holding his hand and walking around to look at the finished art around the shop.

“All done!” Stephanie said after what felt like forever. She wiped down Ian’s new tattoo with a wet paper towel and put product on it before Mickey took a picture. Ian walked over to the full-length mirror and awkwardly turned his head to look at the back of his shoulder.

“Holy shit!” Ian said, this time in the best way possible. “I love it! Thank you so much.”

As Ian had requested, the new tattoo was his tribute to Mickey, featuring the crossed guns as the main focal point of the piece, along with the “Finally Free” banner. He’d also opted to add the date of their wedding to the design, which was under the “Finally Free” text.

“Damn, Ian, that looks badass as shit! Way better than those awful fucking Monica tits,” Mickey exclaimed. He texted the picture to Ian as the redhead paid Stephanie, including a generous tip, and they proceeded out the door. “Can’t fucking wait to get mine done now!”

 

* * *

 

With both Mickey and Ian freshly-tattooed and by now in various stages of itchiness, it was nearly time for Christmas festivities. Stephanie had marveled at how well Mickey had sat for his entire chestpiece, the Ian and Mickey panther and tiger coming out beautifully over the scrawled mess of Ian’s name. Mickey opted not to tell her how getting a tattoo in a shop was nothing at all compared to being shot twice and carving Ian’s name into his own chest in prison.

With no foreseeable disruptions to ruin this dinner, unlike the last one on Thanksgiving, things went relatively smoothly in the house. Mickey’s brothers came over to join Ian, Mickey and Ian’s siblings at their house. They were now in the process of trying to help with, but only succeeding in interfering with, the rolls Mickey was taking out of the oven. Meanwhile, Fiona was attempting to maintain some semblance of order as Debbie looking on, frowning.

“Fucking hell, Iggy!” Mickey grunted in frustration as Iggy gave up and attempted to bump his younger brother’s arm, but Mickey was more than ready for it.

“Joey? Colin? Jamie? Can you go do something else for the time being until we’re done making dinner?” Fiona said, in full Gallagher matriarch mode. “Iggy, stop. Come here and help me with the cheesy potatoes. Stop picking on Mickey already. Jesus.”

Iggy, to everyone’s surprise, actually listened to Fiona and handed her the last of the seasonings she would use to finish off the dish she was currently preparing. Ian amusedly considered the fact that Fiona, in that tone, could have convinced anyone - even the toughest Milkovich - to listen to her.  _ It was either that, or Iggy has really gotten soft,  _ Ian thought, chuckling.

“Fuck all of you idiots!” Mickey said. “Go back and do your own shit. You’re supposed to be helping with cutting up the fucking ham. You guys are pains in my ass.”

“Suit yourself, little brother,” Colin shot back. “Although I thought that was your boyfriend - sorry, husband’s job to do that.” The rest of Mickey’s brothers sniggered as Mickey picked up a spatula from the kitchen counter and threw it at Colin’s head, barely missing. Joey, in turn, then grabbed Mickey’s arm and wrenched it behind his back until he yelled.

“Stop it, all of you fuckheads!” Mandy yelled. “God, it’s like fucking babysitting toddlers. Fiona, now you see what I had to deal with growing up. Holy shit.”

“Well, we are gonna have to deal with one,” Lip said, patting Mandy’s baby bump. “Yo, can you guys actually help us with dinner instead of re-enacting UFC 2450?”   


“So, Mickey…about Ian. You know how you fucking call him ‘Firecrotch?’ I’m guessing the curtains match the drapes, then?” Colin asked.

“Curtains and drapes are the same fucking thing, you fucking retarded asswipe,” Iggy corrected. “It’s, ‘Does the fucking  _ carpet _ match the drapes?’ So, Mick, do they?” He raised his eyebrows. “All of us were fucking wondering if his hair is red all over, eh?”

“Take a wild fucking guess, Iggs,” Mickey snorted.

Ian flushed redder than his hair and threw his hands up. “Can you wait until I’m not in the room?! Jesus, what is wrong with you? And Mickey, don’t encourage them!”

“You know what? Fucking stop it with that shit already,” Mandy said, deeply annoyed by now. “For dudes who don’t have gay sex, you sure talk about it a lot.”

Fiona slapped Iggy on the arm. “Iggy. Leave Ian alone and stop talking about this shit in front of him.”

“Fine,” Iggy groveled. “Won’t fucking do it...in front of you,” he said, lowering his voice at the end of the sentence.

 

* * *

 

By the time they were done with dinner and had finished their group white elephant gift exchange, everyone was winding down and entering food comas. Since Fiona had just gotten a new job as a server at a local Elmwood restaurant, she chose to give all of their family members cards with bags of sweets and IOU slips for gifts from her in the future.

The families played a few rounds of poker before breaking out more board games. Mickey and Ian relaxed on the couch, enjoying each others’ company as more raucous laughter came their way from the dining room table.Ian and Mickey lazily kissed and held each other as they watched a rerun of  _ Futurama _ , not really paying attention to the program.

They remained entwined until they fell asleep there on the couch, considering their first married Christmas together a relaxing day, but ultimately a success.

The lazy, peaceful feeling didn’t last long. The next morning, Ian was jolted awake by loud pounding on the downstairs door. He and Mickey quickly pulled on pants as Fiona and Lip, in various stages of undress and disarray, staggered from their bedrooms into the living room.

“What the fuck?” Lip asked groggily.

Ian and Mickey tagged along behind Fiona and Lip as the latter opened the door. To their shock, two City of Buffalo police officers were standing on the doorstep. Both identified themselves and showed the bedraggled party at the door their badges.

“Good morning, officers,” Lip said, still sounding more asleep than awake, although his eyes were widening with shock. Nobody had expected anything like this, especially not on the morning after Christmas, and Mickey’s brothers were accounted for at home.

“Good morning. Are you the family of Mr. Francis Gallivan?” one of the officers, whose name identified her as M. Jackson, said with a serious look on her face.

“Yes,” Fiona said. “The three of us are. What did he do this time? If he got caught ripping somebody off or panhandling again, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that,” the other officer, whose name plate read L. Roberts, said. Both he and Jackson both looked distinctly uneasy as Roberts said, “Mind if we come in?”

“Sure,” Fiona said. “Please, come in and have a seat on the couch.”

Still confused, Ian suspected that Frank had gotten himself into some other ridiculous scheme that got him some pocket money for alcohol and drugs, since they hadn’t seen or heard from him at all since the Thanksgiving fiasco. Ian wondered to himself how they’d even figured out a way to contact Frank’s family at all, since all of his ID cards were likely fake.

Lip settled the officers down on the couch, then pulled up chairs. Debbie, Frannie and Liam were, by now, shuffling into the living room as well, also all looking thoroughly confused by the presence of the two random police officers in their house.

“No, thank you,” Jackson said. “We aren’t going to be staying long. This is going to be difficult, but there’s something important that you need to know.”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but your father is dead. We found his body two days ago in a garbage truck on Christmas Eve. His ID was on him - well, the one with the right photo and address, since he had three with different names,” Roberts said. “We don’t yet have a cause of death, but we are very sorry to have to do this to you during the holidays.”


	34. Loss

Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Frank, his alcoholic, addict, deadbeat father who made a living scamming people while ignoring his own children - particularly himself - growing up, was gone. Dead. This couldn’t be right, because it was beyond his ability to comprehend that Frank Gallagher could even die at all.

“He’s...dead?” Fiona asked. “Are you sure it’s him and not some other bum off the street?”

“Did your father have organ transplants?” Roberts asked. “We found scars consistent with them.”

Fiona nodded. “Yeah. He had a liver transplant and scars from being opened up years ago to have his kidney taken out. The bum had no business even having a transplant in the first place, and we can’t figure out how the fuck he got one.” She slumped in her chair. “Holy shit. Frank is really dead...after all these years, something actually killed him.”

“I’m very sorry,” Jackson added.

 _Holy fucking shit. Frank is gone,_ Ian thought. _We’d joked that even cockroaches would outlive Frank fucking Gallagher if a nuclear bomb hit the earth, and now he’s gone_.

“How did he die?” Lip asked.

 _Drank himself to death is my guess,_ Ian pondered cynically, but said nothing.

“We don’t have a cause of death yet. The Chief Medical Examiner in Erie County has to look at the remains and determine one - after which we will release the body to the funeral home of your choosing,” Jackson said.

“What do we do from there?” Lip asked. “We didn’t worry about this when Monica - our mother - died, since she died at home. There was nothing to be released. Where’s the body?”

“Contact a funeral home to make arrangements. From there, the Office of the Medical Examiner will take care of everything, including the release of the body,” Roberts explained. “Once again, I am very sorry for your family’s loss.”

As they got up to leave, Fiona thanked the officers for their time, leaving Lip, Ian, Debbie and Liam to process what they’d heard. Ian was vaguely aware of the door closing behind them.

Ian was numb. He hated Frank. Hell, Frank wasn’t even his own biological father, and Ian and Lip had joked time and time again that Ian at least had the saving grace of not being Frank’s, unlike the rest of them. Ian wondered what became of his uncle/father, Clayton. Ian hadn’t seen him in years, and he ever acknowledged the possibility Ian was his son and not his nephew.

_How many times had all of us, especially Fiona, Lip and me, hated Frank for all the hell he put us through as kids? How many times did we wish Frank was dead? We pushed him off of a bridge after he crashed Fiona’s wedding, not bothering to find out what had happened. So why the fuck am I not exuberant as all shit about this?_

Thankfully, Fiona did the talking for all of them as she came back to the living room. “What are you supposed to say about someone you couldn’t count on? Fucking Monica, you couldn’t count on her, either, and I said that at her funeral,” she said, her affect cold. “Even Monica didn’t put us through the shit Frank did. He ruined my wedding - but my ex did a good job of that, too. The only thing you could count on Frank for was to be a drunken lout with nothing going for him.”

Ian remembered how Frank spoke at Monica’s funeral about how he’d met her at a Supertramp concert, and Monica jumped into the window of Frank’s car - while she was naked. The children had the pleasure of knowing that was how their parents met. For better or worse, Frank and Monica were meant to be - they did drugs together, fought like savages, and were finally together for good - and neither of them would be thorns in their sides again.

“What are we going to do with the body?” Lip asked. “What do you _want_ to do?”

Fiona took a long time to answer. “I don’t fucking know. Burn it, for all I give a shit.”

Ian sighed. “I say that first of all, we get this shit straightened out and we get the word on if this was a fucking accident...or if somebody is trying to fuck with us. We can’t assume anything. We don’t know if this is from somebody Mickey used to run around with, or it’s what it appears to be and Frank finally kicked the bucket.”

“You really think it was somebody Mickey used to be connected to?” Debbie asked, shocked. “Ian, I’m fucking scared. Really scared. If they can get Frank, they can get us.”

Lip rushed over to give her a hug. “Ian, stop fucking scaring us. As far as we know, nobody is trying to get us. No one from home knows where we are, not even Kev and V!”

“All I told them is we are now in witness protection, and why we had to leave home so fast. The only thing I can think of is that Frank blabbed…God, I fucking hope he didn’t tell anyone at home where we are!” Fiona said, exasperated. “I mean, I’m not gonna snitch on him or anything, but if we are in danger…”

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” Mandy chimed in. She grimaced and sat down, cupping her swollen abdomen with her hands. “I’m so fucking sorry. Yeah, I know Frank wasn’t exactly father of the year...but neither was ours. Ours was a piece of shit, too. But I’m still sorry.”

Fiona shook her head, incredulous. She got up and paced the room before finally sagging into the couch, looking very little like the strong, confident mother figure Ian had grown up knowing. For a second, Ian didn’t know what she was going to do. Then, she launched into a tirade.

“Fucking Frank...fuck that asshole. Fuck how he encouraged Monica. Fuck how I had to drag his dirty, disgusting ass inside when he came home passed out. Fuck how I had to raise this entire family because he couldn’t be the parent we all needed! I was the one who fucking did everything! I took care of all of you! And Monica...did I ever tell you about how I hit Monica’s casket after the funeral home lady left? And now Frank goes and leaves us, too? Fuck it all! We’re better without both of those sorry fucks! It’s Monica all over again. When she died, Frank tried to fucking tell us she loved us. Bull-fucking-shit!”

By now, Fiona was crying. “She loved us enough to leave us for months on end - _YEARS_ on end, and it would’ve been better if Frank fucked off, too, because it was like having to watch another little fucking kid when he was around! And now they’re both gone, we have no fucking parents...and we never fucking had any to begin with!”

No one else said anything, because they all knew Fiona was right. Frank was far from the world’s best father. Ian considered how he would have felt if he had had a real father - after all, he wasn’t even Frank’s biological son. It then dawned on him that, even though they couldn’t contact anyone from back home, they still had a contact through the program - one they might be able to use to get Frank’s body home.

“I know what we should do,” Ian finally said. “We really can’t afford a service with Lip and Mandy’s baby coming, and with our rent. To be honest, I would just fucking throw his ashes into Lake Erie if I had any say about it. Fucking worthless piece of garbage he was...I say Mickey and I contact the U.S. ADA we’ve been working with, Jerome Peterson, and arrange for Frank’s body to be flown back to Chicago for them to deal with. Why should we pay for a service for Frank? It’s not like he would’ve done the same for us.”

After slamming her hand on the arm of the couch, Fiona got up and put on her coat.

“You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna go to-” she stopped, acting very much like she was about to say something she shouldn’t, before catching herself. “I’m gonna take a walk. I need to go outside, have a fucking cigarette by myself, go to SPoT Coffee and grab a fucking latte and sit, because I can’t fucking deal with this. I can’t be in this house right now. Fuck it.”

“Fiona!” Ian shouted, but the door had already slammed behind her. Shocked by Fiona’s sudden exit, Ian vocalized his concern, but nobody seemed to be concerned. Another pregnant pause fell over the room, until the family’s eldest brother finally spoke up.

“She’s gonna be fine. She’ll deal with it how she deals with it...and she has a fuckton more anger than the rest of us do over Frank, because she fucking did his job. She did it _FOR_ him, when he was supposed to be our parent! Remember how Fiona told Frank that she was glad Monica was dead, because it meant she couldn’t fuck us over?” Lip said. “Well, I’m fucking glad now Frank is dead, because it means he can’t _disappoint_ us.”

There was very little anyone else could say about a malignant narcissist who would sell his own children for another beer, another Oxy or another hit. Frank never did anything for his children unless there was some benefit for himself in it. He was a scumbag, and everyone knew it - even the people in their new city. _There was no reason to be sad,_ Ian told himself, _but if that’s the case, then why am I so fucking numb like I was when Monica died? Why?_

Gradually, other heads in the room slowly began to nod, like a slow wave passing over the room. No one cried, and Ian wasn’t sure if it was because they were in shock or because he was right. They were better off, but to his surprise, Ian felt a twinge of emotions he wasn’t expecting - sorrow over losing not Frank, but losing the father he deserved but never got the chance to have.

 

* * *

 

For the next few days after the police came, Ian was irritable. He’d made an appointment to see his therapist and psychiatrist, since even Mickey had not been able to comfort him. His emotions were running the gamut: relief that Frank was dead, some degree of guilt that they’d thrown him out onto the street, and fear that this was no accident. Thankfully, the cats were Ian’s companions and helped him through the process.

“At least we figured out what to do with the bastard’s body,” Ian grumbled into Alex’s fur. “Fuck him, since it’s really better than he actually ever deserved for how he treated us.”

Mickey, lying next to his husband, had little to say. “Fucking sorry, man,” he said. “Wish there was more I could fucking do about it, but can’t bring people back from the dead.”

Peterson had made contact with Kaye Foxx, the Cook County State’s Attorney. She, in turn, discreetly arranged for the Cook County Medical Examiner to take the body. Once a preliminary cause of death was determined, Frank would be flown to the Cook County ME’s office to be given to a Chicago funeral home. Ian figured the remains would go to one of Frank’s estranged brothers, or Cousin Patrick. _He’s their problem now, and not ours anymore._

Since he’d told the pet store his father had passed away, Ian got bereavement time, as had most of the other members of the family. It was Christmas break for Liam, but as the sibling least able to remember when Frank was at his shittiest, Liam was taking the death particularly hard. It fell mostly on Debbie, when she was home, to comfort the young boy when he cried, and the others to feign sadness for Liam’s well-being.

Lip was mostly cursing Frank and waxing poetic about his own mortality like a philosopher, while Fiona went back to work at the restaurant like nothing had happened, declining bereavement in favor of getting back on her feet after being out of work for so long. Ian knew Fiona wouldn’t want to be idle, but even he was shocked by how many extra hours she was working. She was seldom, if ever, at the house.

At the moment, Ian was curled up in bed, Alex purring next to him and Clayton meowing for his attention. He petted the ginger feline, wondering vaguely how Frank would have taken the news that Ian wasn’t his son.

“He wouldn’t have cared. He never even cared about me. He never fucking cared about anything but his next fix,” Ian told Mickey morosely.

The brunet said nothing, but proceeded to hold the redhead more tightly to his body.

While the company of the cats was pleasant, Ian needed Mickey, who was his rock in difficult times as much as any of his family members were. He preferred their company, and that of Mickey, to his own family. He was infinitely glad that while Mickey found the situation to be extremely awkward, he was able to put that aside because of his love for Ian and his comfort being paramount.

“Hey,” Mickey said, coming into his and Ian’s room on the fourth day since the officers had shown up. “Need me to get you anything?”

“No,” Ian said. “I need you to hold me. I need more than just the cats, although damn it if they aren’t helping. They’re cute and all, but they aren’t you. I’m just so fucking tired of this shit. I even want to start smoking again, but don’t wanna go down that rabbit hole.” He rubbed restlessly at the nicotine patch stuck onto his upper arm.

Mickey had been uncharacteristically quiet since the police officers came. Ian figured they would eventually have a conversation, but he had no idea what Mickey would even say.

_What does he say when his father is an abusive, homophobic shithead and his husband’s own alcoholic, drug-addicted deadbeat father dies? And what do I say to my husband, whose dad is even worse than mine was, yet he’s still alive?_

Ian remembered again how it had been right after he’d allowed Mickey to cross the border by himself - the biggest mistake Ian made in his life. No one else besides Lip was allowed that secret, about those fateful days he’d spent driving to the border with Mickey and back without him.

The redhead took a deep breath. “I fucking don’t know how to feel about Frank dying. I mean...he was a shitty-ass parent and an alcoholic bum, but he was still my dad. How am I supposed to feel? How did you feel when your mom died?”

“I lost my mom a long time ago,” Mickey said. “I was too young to remember much, just that she was there and then she was gone. Had a real thick Ukrainian accent I can still remember sometimes. She kept Dad’s temper in line, and it was after she died that he really went off the fucking deep end. That’s the part I really fucking remember - Dad getting worse.”

In spite of himself, a tear started to run down his cheek. Ian quietly sobbed into Mickey’s chest. The ex-thug leaned into his husband and cradled the redhead’s skull. “Hey. Just lie here with me,” Mickey said, uncomfortable with the prospect of having to comfort Ian over the death of a man the brunet had once threatened to kill in order to keep Frank from outing him, after the former caught Ian and Mickey fucking. However, in this moment, it didn’t even matter.

As Ian continued to sob, he realized he wasn’t crying about Frank. He was crying because he had flashbacks to what it was like to be alone, grieving the loss of his mother soon after losing the love of his life to Mexico, not even knowing if Mickey was alive or dead. He made a terrible choice then, and it was even worse in hindsight.

It dawned on Ian that he was also crying because even now, miles away from their home where this had all begun, Ian was unsure if he and Mickey had gotten their family away from the danger. He still remembered the horror of seeing Mickey nearly die in front of him, where not even his EMT training could help if he had bled out on that floor. Ian didn’t know if someone was trying to hurt Mickey, and he didn’t even know if anyone still had it out for them and could show up at any moment to harm Mickey and himself again.

_For all I know, Frank could’ve been the target of a hit, from someone who wants my entire family - and Mickey’s - dead. And I’ll be able to do jack fucking shit about it._


	35. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Syllis and MarzgaPerez for their help as I wrote this chapter, and throughout this story.
> 
> Author’s note: chapter contains minimally graphic description of childbirth at the end.

As December turned into January and then February, Ian felt the effects of winter weather on his mental state more profoundly than ever. The same was true of his moods back home, but in this case, the fact he was still concerned about the possibility of Frank’s death not being an accident, along with Mickey being at risk, contributed to his doldrums. By now, Ian hated the uncertainty and just wanted the trial to be over and done with,  so they could move on with their lives.

Lip, with whom Ian was speaking after they’d both gotten home from work, did little to comfort Ian in spite of his best efforts. They sat on the front porch, shivering, Lip smoking a cigarette while Ian stared, glassy-eyed, into nothing. Ian thought of asking to bum one, but thought better of it. He hadn’t had one in months, slipping up only a few times, but now seemed like a likely time.

“I still think Frank drank himself to death,” Lip said. “Preliminary ruling, but we won’t know until the full toxicology results come back.”

“We don’t know for sure if it was an accident,” Ian argued. “How do we know someone didn’t throw him in the dumpster and wait for the truck to come pick him up? They probably hoped the trash compactor would kill him and destroy the evidence to suggest otherwise, and how would they even be able to figure anything else out?”

“They said he got pretty banged up from being thrown in the truck, but the wounds weren’t bleeding at all,” Lip said, stubbing the cigarette out. “So, he was already dead by the time he got near the trash compactor. They think he was dead for a few days - as it was, one of the dudes noticed a hand sticking out, so they stopped it.”

“Yeah, but why does that not make me feel any fucking better?” Ian asked, irritated. _Mickey was running with cartel fuckers. How difficult would it have been for them to pour beer down Frank’s throat, drug him or otherwise do something to help make it look like an accident?_

“Ian,” Lip said, exasperated by now. “Please. We have no fucking proof of that, and you are gonna drive yourself nuts thinking about it.”

“I’m already fucking nuts as it is,” Ian said glumly.

 

* * *

 

“Do you think Lip is right? Do you think it was an accident?” Ian asked Mickey later that night.

Mickey shrugged. “Your old man made me and mine look like a teetotaler, and I did some hard shit when I was in Mexico for sure - not that I really want to talk about that shit, even with you. Even before that...but I don’t think the county ME gave much of a shit about Frank to begin with. Probably didn’t give it much thought at all.”

“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse,” Ian groaned. “Do you think we ought to tell Peterson and them we suspect Frank may have talked? Could be to our benefit.”

Mickey looked at Ian like he had three heads. “Are you fucking serious?” Mickey snorted. “Why the fuck would you even suggest that? I mean, I snitched on a cartel to get my ass locked up with you, but that don’t mean I’m gonna make a habit of doing it all the fucking time now. You high on meth or some shit? Jesus, Ian.”

“Can you promise me that nothing is gonna happen if we do keep our mouths shut?” Ian asked. “Can you promise nobody else from the cartel will get us here?”

“Ian. What the fuck?” Mickey answered him. “Of course I can’t promise nothing will happen. Then again, I can’t fucking promise that I won’t fall down tomorrow and break a hip, or get cancer, or die in a horrific bus crash. Can’t promise nothing in this world. If nothing else, that is really what growing up on the South Side taught me.”

“Oh? Is that all it taught you?” Ian asked sarcastically.

“No. I also learned I have a thing for alien-looking, pale motherfucking gingers who ask too many questions instead of fucking me into the mattress,” Mickey said. “Seriously, though. We are here for a reason. Nobody is out there to get us. I mean, the dudes I used to run with were bad news, but we got the Great Lakes between us now.”

Ian sighed deeply. “You do realize no matter what you say to me, it’s not gonna make me feel any better, right? Not even offering your ass to me. I need time to deal with this. I need some time to just process it and feel better.”

“Hey,” Mickey said. “I fucking love you. Always have, always will. I don’t know what else I can fucking say to make you feel any better, but I’m hoping that’s good.” He leaned into Ian’s body and kissed him. “Love you, Gallagher.”

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to go back to using our old names again?” Ian asked. “It did bother me that I can’t be Ian Gallagher-Milkovich, we had to fucking use these fake-ass names instead of the ones we grew up with.”

“You knew that going into this. This is why I told you when you first got locked up and when you were thinking of marrying me so you could enter the program,” Mickey countered. “You knew then that you’d have to lose your whole identity to be with me, and you made the choice to do it...hell, you were ready to give up your entire fucking family before you became a protected witness and agreed to testify against Cortez.”

“You think we’ll be able to make it through the trial without anything happening?” Ian asked. “How did they get you into and out of the courtroom? I read about some shit they’ve done to get witnesses in and out without drawing suspicion.”

Mickey shrugged. “For me, they transported me in an armored fucking tank with a hood on my head, and they didn’t take it off me until I was in that back area of the courthouse where suits hang out before they go in front of the jury. Don’t know what it’s called.”

Ian chuckled. “You know what’s hilarious? You did the same thing to me when you had your goons grab me after you broke out of prison. You had them bring me to the bleachers at the old ball fields. Where we used to go and hang out, and fuck when we were kids.”

“Oh, come on. That was fucking funny, and you know it,” Mickey shot back.

 

* * *

 

On the morning of Mandy’s baby shower, Mickey awoke to a wide-awake redhead standing over him. “Get out of bed, sleepyhead,” Ian teased him. “I made breakfast for us. We gotta get ready for the party downstairs. I already picked out shit for her so that you didn’t have to do it, because I know you hate doing that kind of stuff.”

“It’s a Saturday, and we don’t gotta punch a clock. And good that I didn’t have to do more,” Mickey said. “I don’t have any idea what baby stuff Mandy wants...and the party is gonna be in this fucking house, so it’s not like we gotta go far.”

“You know, there was a way to find out,” Ian said, picking up his phone. “It’s called ‘texting her and asking.’ And we gotta take a shower. Mandy can’t be around for long because she’s got a shift later...and so do you. I gotta work the closing shift at the store, so it’s not like we have all day to get this done. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Mickey conceded. “But only if we get to fuck around in the shower before we head down. Otherwise I’m gonna have blue balls and am just gonna be thinking about you bending me over and fucking me while I’m supposed to focus on my sister’s kid and gifts she gets.”

Raising an eyebrow, Ian was more than willing to concede this, but he felt like playing hard-to-get. “That can be arranged,” Ian teased. “But do you deserve it after you’ve been lazy all morning? I was already up and making breakfast, while you never got out of bed.”

“Try cockblocking me and I’m gonna shove my foot up your ass,” Mickey threatened.

“I’d rather shove something else of mine up yours,” Ian shot back.

At that, Mickey was significantly faster. They made out lazily as they disrobed, not wanting to rush this too much contrary to what Ian had said earlier. Once Mickey was down to his boxers, Ian palmed the tent in them through the thin material.

“Hmm...we can’t exactly leave these on now, can we?” he said seductively. “I’m going to meet you in the bathroom and you’d better have these off, or else. We can have breakfast after.”

By the time Mickey got there, Ian had started the shower. “Damn, Red,” Mickey said. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Ian said. “Now shut the fuck up and kiss me so that we can get on to fucking.”

Mickey took off his boxers, hard cock springing free from the confining material, and got in the shower. He latched his lips onto Ian’s wet ones, running his fingers through Ian’s soaked hair. Ian moaned into the shorter man’s mouth, his cock similarly rock-hard and aching to be somewhere other than where it currently was. Ian reached for the bottle of lube they kept in the shower rack, and handed it to Mickey so he could begin prepping himself.

Ian couldn’t keep back another moan at the sight of his partner’s pale body, full ass presented for him, mouth more than ready and willing to deliver more razor-tongued barbs.

“You just gonna stare at it, or are you gonna fuck it? Get on it already. Fucking shouldn’t have to say it again,” Mickey said, irritated.

“Fine,” Ian said, coming close to actually growling the word at him. “You’re gonna get it, and good and hard the way you like it. I’m gonna pound your ass hard until you fucking moan for me.”

After lubing up his own painfully-hard cock, Ian lined up and, agonizingly slowly for both of them, pushed it in, coaxing a strangled gasp out of Mickey. “Fuck,” Mickey choked out. “Always so fucking good, Gallagher.”

“I told you, don’t call me that,” Ian said, feigning anger. “Guess I gotta punish you.” Ian grabbed a handful of wet, black hair and yanked Mickey’s head backward. “You’re bad, calling me that. Now you’re gonna take this.”

He grabbed Mickey’s hip with the other hand and began pounding hard into him, Mickey panting by now and little choked sounds continuing to come out of his throat. Mickey reached down to touch his own cock and began stroking it in time with the pleasure his husband was giving from behind, the dual stimulation driving him nuts.

Ian angled his thrusts, this routine commonplace enough to where Ian could tell he hit Mickey’s prostate from how his moans took on a slightly higher pitch and the noises he made became more desperate - not that he’d ever admit to it after the fact. Milkoviches, even by any other name, didn’t resort to such base behavior.

“Fuck, Ian…” Mickey moaned. “I’m gonna fucking -”

His whole body shuddered as he came, white streams shooting onto the shower wall before being rinsed away by the tap water coming out of the shower. Ian wasn’t far behind, the spasms of Mickey’s body around him coaxing his own orgasm out of the redhead.

“Goddamn, Mickey,” Ian said as they both came down from their highs, Ian thinking these moments like this were infinitely better than any drug he’d ever done.

“Love you, you fuckhead,” Mickey said, grinning. “Now let’s get the fuck outta this shower before two pruny-ass, drowned rat queers have to show up for Mandy’s baby shower.”

Ian didn’t bother to grab his phone as he got ready to head downstairs. As he bounded down, he heard noises that sounded like pots and pans being jostled. Ian figured people were making food, and he could help with the preparation. They swung open the door to the lower apartment, expecting Mandy and Lip to greet them.

What they did not expect to see was Iggy in the kitchen against the counter, fucking a woman whose face Ian couldn’t see, but he could tell she had brown hair. Her face was buried into Iggy’s chest as she was facing him, panting and moaning desperately as she clung at the shirt that Iggy was still wearing.

“IGGY!” Ian screamed. “OH MY GOD!”

Iggy jumped ten feet in the air and then scrambled behind a door frame. The woman shrieked and ducked behind the kitchen island, out of Mickey and Ian’s sight.

“What the shit, Red? We texted you not to come until later! I said everybody left to go get shit for the party!” Iggy said. “Christ! Now I get why you tell me to knock…”

“Ian, what the _fuck_?” a horrifyingly familiar voice demanded from behind the island.

 _It can’t be, but I’d know that voice anywhere._ The “extra hours” Fiona was spending gone from the house now made sense, as did Iggy’s uncharacteristic interest in preparing for the baby shower at this house. Mickey screamed at the sight of his eldest sister-in-law naked and ran out the door, leaving Ian gaping in horror.

 

* * *

 

In spite of Mickey’s initial disgust, he and Ian took the news of Iggy and Fiona well. Mickey seemed pleased that Iggy wasn’t drinking as heavily. Neither was Fiona. It seemed she wasn’t lonely now that she had a confidante she was also fucking, and one with a criminal past since she was a chaos junkie. Ian was just glad she was in a much better headspace now.

“I just really wish I didn’t have to come into your siblings’ apartment to see my fuckheaded brother balls deep in your sister,” Mickey grumbled. “Seeing shit like that makes me wonder why the fuck I ever stopped smoking, ‘cause I need one after that. Christ.”

“How many times did we let people catch us like that when we were teenagers?” Ian shot back. Mickey sulked, knowing for once how to quit when he handily lost an argument. “But hopefully everything is okay with Iggy over here all of the time and not holding down the fort.”

Mickey snorted. “Are you fucking kidding me? I was the one who held the fort down when Dad was locked up. I ran all of the shit my brothers did. As it is, fucking Colin and Jamie are going back to dealing because they couldn’t find work. Feds are still looking for a job to set them up with, but it’ll be harder to place them than us.”

“Are you serious?” Ian said, exasperated. “Colin and Jamie are back in the game?”

“Yep,” Mickey said. “At least Iggy has been smart enough to stay out of it, and Joey, too. He and Iggy’ve got more to lose since being a mechanic pays pretty good money.”

“Goddamn it!” Ian cursed. “That’s one more thing we need to worry about: those idiots getting themselves hauled in. Oh...and did I ever tell you about how Carl went into juvie and came out with his hair in cornrows, thinking he was some hardcore gangbanger?”

“Fuck,” Mickey said. “That’s hilarious imagining Carl doing shit and not getting fucked up. Wonder who he fell in with? I probably fucked half the dudes he ran with...he oughta have saved that for the people who actually knew how to handle shit. My brothers had all aged outta juvie, or they would’ve fucked him up for sure.”

Ian gave Mickey a look that clearly said he didn’t want to hear about Mickey fucking guys in juvie. Thankfully, it went no further.

“Speaking of which, I wonder how Carl is doing,” Ian said. “I know I told you he didn’t want to join us because he wanted to stay in military school. But it’s gotta be awful fucking lonely out there with no family to call, nobody else. He’s got friends in Chicago he can still talk to, and Kelly is still out there with him - his girl - but I wish we could do something. He’s my brother. Wonder if we could figure out an untraceable way to do it.”

“That’s outta my expertise. If it ain’t running drugs or guns, I know nothing about it,” Mickey said. “Ask your genius brother. And Carl was the one who opted not to go into the program as it was. It’s on him if he chose to stay where he was and not follow us to Buffalo.”

 

* * *

 

Two more months went by. Ian was dragging his ass around the store, helping customers take things out to their cars and stocking product. As Ian sat down and prepared to eat his chicken sandwich, he checked his phone to see five texts, all saying some variation of the same thing: Mandy had gone into labor and everyone was on their way to the hospital.

“Fuck!” Ian cursed quietly, wishing he didn’t have to work for three more hours. Once he got out, Ian called an Uber to take him to Buffalo General. He arrived to find the family, minus Lip and Mandy, in the waiting room. Mickey’s brothers looked bored, and Colin was snoring loudly.

“Ian!” Fiona said. “We’ve already been in to see Mandy. They’re only gonna let two people in at a time to see her, and Lip is already there. She’s been asking for you.”

He looked down the hallway for the room Mandy and Lip were in. He walked in to see Lip curled on the hospital bed next to Mandy, who had an IV sticking out of her right hand. She looked up at Ian with a weak smile. “Hey. Glad you could fucking join us. I’m not feeling like shit and I can breathe now that the drugs kicked in. Too bad I can’t feel my legs.”

Ian smiled. “Is that a good thing?”

“It is when it would otherwise feel like somebody is trying to rip your guts out with knives,” Mandy said.

Ian smiled, shook his head and sat down in one of the chairs next to the foot of the bed. That sounded like Mandy Milkovich, the one he’d befriended years ago.

“You realize none of this shit bothers me, right? I saw worse as an EMT, and I was trained in how to deliver babies. I picked up a few women in later stages of labor. You want me in there for that?”

Mandy shrugged. “Fuck, I’ve had enough people in here poking and prodding me that I don’t actually care anymore. I...guess I thought it would affect me more given...what happened back home.” Lip squeezed her hand, knowing what she was talking about.

“Ian, don’t ask. I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve seen a counselor, and the nurses and doctors have made me comfortable. I started puking as soon as I got here, and I started feeling better after the drugs started kicking in. And you know what? I don’t even care who sees what anymore. I just want this baby out of me already. Right fucking now.”

“Sure,” Ian said. “If you really need it, I can tell you some of the other EMT shit I’ve told to other women we’ve picked up who’ve been in labor. If you don’t want me here, that’s fine.”

***

As the night wore on, Ian struggled to stay awake, but he stayed in the room with Mandy and Lip. Since Mandy was coherent enough to sit up and talk, a few other members of the family came in, and Mandy shot several verbal barbs at her brothers who poked their heads in long enough to heckle her, knowing she was unable to move to reach and punch them. Ian offered to leave so Mickey could check on Mandy, but Mickey made it clear he didn’t want to be anywhere near the birth when it happened.

Mandy was still in good spirits, telling lan and Lip that she could feel pressure, but not the severe pain of when she first came into the hospital. As another nurse came in to check on Mandy, she said Mandy was at 10 centimeters dilated and ready to start pushing.

Ian and Mandy quickly exchanged a look as the team of hospital staff assembled by the foot of the bed, with Lip standing on one side near her head and Ian on the other.

45 minutes later, the doctors and nurses were still hovering around Mandy, who was red-faced and squeezing Lip and Ian’s hands as she pushed. Both tried their best to keep Mandy calm. By that point, she couldn’t even unleash her usual slew of curse words.

As one of the medical staff announced they could see the baby’s head, Lip and Ian moved toward the foot of the bed. Mandy gave one last, hard push, and Natalie gave her first cries as she entered the world. Lip cut the umbilical cord, and once the baby was cleaned up, a nurse handed the newborn girl to her mother.

Mandy cried in a mix of relief and joy as she saw her daughter for the first time, and held her to her chest so the baby could latch. Ian was glad to be enjoying this moment with his best friend in a small way, but he felt like he was intruding and wanted to give the new parents time alone. Ian turned to leave, but Mandy grabbed the redhead’s arm and stopped him. He marveled at how small and vulnerable the new baby looked.

After the medical staff had examined Mandy, she lay back, moving over to the side with Lip helping to move her legs, which were still numb, so that Lip could lay on the edge of the bed next to her. He took his shirt off, and Mandy handed the baby to him so he could have skin to skin contact with his new baby daughter.

“Her name is Natalie Brianna,” Mandy told Ian. “We wanted to name her after you, and her middle name is part of yours. You’ve always been there for me, and for us. And we love you.”


	36. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to Syllis and MargzaPerez for their help with this chapter.

In the coming months, Ian, Mickey and their family got accustomed to a baby in the house. Ian was overjoyed to be able to take care of an infant again, and happily participated in helping Lip take care of his new little niece while Mandy was still recovering from the birth.

“She actually looks peaceful now that she’s asleep,” Mandy said, looking down at her daughter in the crib. “But she’s a fucking Milkovich and a Gallagher, so we know better. Surprising she came as easy as she did and I didn’t have a hard time with it.”

“Yeah, if only those were her legal last names,” Lip said. “Do you think we will ever be able to get out of witness protection? I miss being a Gallagher. ‘Gallivan’ doesn’t have the same ring...and once you guys are done testifying, then I guess that means Bargain Bin El Chapo can’t do anything to either of you to get you to shut up, right?”

“That’s not how it fucking works, Lip,” Ian said darkly. “You think the cartels are a joke? It’s blood in, blood out. Just like the mob. If you were seriously following El Chapo’s case back when it happened, nobody is ever gonna see those witnesses again. At least, never under the names they used to have before they went into the program. They stay in for life.”

“Fine,” Lip said, raising his hands in surrender. “But for now, I’m gonna work on making sure Natalie knows she comes from two badass bloodlines, and we’ll be damned if she doesn’t live up to our expectations. Or if she wants to be delicate, not like her mom...I guess I can deal with that. Fiona won’t be happy, though.”

“We _will_ accept it,” Mandy reminded him, punching him lightly in the arm. Or we could start her out by having her take karate lessons, and maybe MMA when she’s older,” Mandy said.

“I just…” Lip started to say. He sat down, looking uncomfortable. “I just hope I end up being a better dad to Natalie than Frank was to us. I don’t want to fuck this kid up like we were.”

“Lip,” Ian said. “You always wanted to be a dad, as long as I can remember. You wanted someone to take care of, and you can’t set the bar much lower than Frank in terms of shitty parents.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mandy said darkly. Ian wished he hadn’t said anything.

In other news, the toxicology results for Frank came back. The ME ruled he had an impressive cocktail of drugs in his system, then curled up in a dumpster to stay warm in the December weather and died there. The death had already been ruled an accidental drug overdose, but Ian wasn’t fully convinced that was the truth.

 _People could make mistakes._ The rest of the family seemed to see it as no big deal, but the prospect of something else happening, or something else being found in the test results, still weighed heavily on his mind.

“What happens if it comes back months from now that something else did happen, and it wasn’t an accident?” Ian asked, for what felt like the millionth time. “What do we do then? If anybody knows where we are, we’re at risk.”

“As far as we know, his time finally ran out. We called him a cockroach, but even they will die eventually,” Fiona reassured him. “Just try not to worry too much about it.”

“Fat chance,” Ian said. _I have a bad feeling about this. There’s more coming._

 

* * *

 

After six weeks were up, Mandy went back to her job. She was going stir-crazy being cooped up in the house, to no one’s surprise. It helped that she had support from other family members who could watch the baby while she worked two jobs.

The idyllic, peaceful atmosphere came to an end in the form of an update on the trials. That week, Peterson arrived to deliver their subpoena. Once Mickey and Ian invited him inside the apartment, they started to wish that they hadn’t.

They both took a look at the document. It stated that their mutual presence would be needed in Chicago, on January 4, 2021, at the Dirksen Federal Building. There was no telling how long the trial would last, and they both noticed something that deeply bothered them about it. It was for the trial of Pablo Cortez, the cartel hitman - and not the others.

“We aren’t testifying against Sammi? What the fuck?” Ian said, crestfallen. Mickey looked like he was about to take the piece of paper and throw it at the man sitting on their couch.

“You won’t be testifying against her. You won’t be testifying against the Copelands, either,” Peterson explained to a dumbfounded Mickey and Ian.

“What the fuck?!” Mickey said.

“Why not?!” Ian chimed in, furious. He could tell Mickey looked about ready to explode.

“I’m sorry...we didn’t exactly want to tell you that, because we knew you wouldn’t want to hear it. It was going to be the one joint trial for all four of them before their counsel moved to sever. But especially with multiple trials, the rest is just speculation, so it wouldn’t be permitted. Their attorneys would move to have it thrown out,” Peterson said. “You weren’t there to see what the others did, so they’d argue that you didn’t actually witness anything.”

A feeling dawned on Ian, before he spoke, that this may not really have been due to an oversight on anybody’s part, and the omission may have been intentional. A little, nagging feeling of doubt and feeling that he’d been deceived sprung up. Peterson had, thus far, been forthcoming, but Ian wasn’t naive enough to assume he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He doubted Mickey was that naive, either.

“Fuck!” Ian said. “Sammi’s gonna get out and they won’t be able to hold her.” He was close to tears at the thought of the woman who betrayed their family, and tried to kill Mickey, getting out of jail early. The thought of her being free made his blood boil.

“At least her fuckboy won’t be out of the woods,” Mickey said. “It’s crazy illegal for a CO to fuck an inmate, so the dude Sammi was fucking is gonna go away for that - sex offender registry and all that other good shit. I hope he does end up snitching on her!”

“Mickey is right,” Peterson said. “Tony Copeland is facing some very serious charges unless he can plead out, and very quickly. It’d be in his best interest to turn on Samantha Slott, but so far, he hasn’t done it yet. Gerard is facing the same charges as Cortez is, provided we can prove he supplied the murder weapon.”

“Contrary to what you’re expecting, the elaborate witness stand stand-offs are largely creations of Hollywood,” Peterson said. “Old grievances can’t be aired. You have to stick with the facts of what you actually saw that day.”

“I wanted to look her in the eye and tell her to fucking suck my dick,” Mickey snarled. “And fuck you for not telling us we can’t.” Ian felt similarly, but lifted an arm to hold him back, realizing starting a fight with a U.S. attorney in their apartment would be a terrible look for them.

“I’m sorry again. But you won’t be able to do that, even if she does go on trial later,” Peterson said. “That’s not how it works in real life, unlike what you see on TV. But I have to give you a heads up that in the days before you are called to the stand, I - and the other prosecutors who are trying this - can give you an idea of what they might ask, but we legally cannot coach you.”

“Others who will try to weasel information out of us by telling us what we want to hear?” Mickey asked, his temper clearly rising.

Ian didn’t want trouble, particularly not with someone who very easily could decide that this wasn’t worth it and throw them back in jail. “Stop,” he told Mickey. “Just stop it now.”

Peterson paused before answering. “Yes. There will be a team of lawyers on both sides, since this is a complicated case. There’s a lot more going on behind the scenes than you will know.”

“What else do we have to do?” Ian asked, nervous already about the possibility, and indeed the likelihood, of all of his prior sins being brought out on the stand.

“Bear in mind they are going to try and use the two of you against each other. They already know that you’re married, because this isn’t like what you see on TV, where people come up with surprise evidence at the very last minute and shock the other side,” the attorney said. His demeanor had taken on a noticeably clipped since Mickey’s outburst.

“All information has to be presented up front. It’s called a Brady violation if they don’t. And if there is _ANYTHING_ at all in your past, the other side _can_ use that against you in an attempt to discredit you. Every toe you’ve put out of line, the jury will hear about, so if there is anything else you haven’t told me, I advise you to put it on the table now.”

“I...” Ian started, not knowing if he should continue, given he didn’t know for sure he could trust Peterson. He also didn’t know he wouldn’t get additional time for what he had done on the way to Mexico. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about.”

Mickey held up his hands. “Hold on a second. Before you say anything else, I gotta make sure the record is straight,” he said. He addressed Peterson. “You wanted us to come clean about our pasts. You might’ve noticed you ain’t dealing with altar boys here. Can you promise you’re gonna keep working with us on this and we aren’t gonna end up back in jail for some old mistakes that don't matter anymore?”

Peterson sighed, sounding annoyed. “We figured there was more in your past. We aren’t dumb. But that’s why we are going to go over it now. But we aren’t going to prosecute you for any of it, but better that we find out about this now than if defense counsel brings it up. I mean it when I say anything you hide can jeopardize the _whole case_.”

“I helped him,” Ian said. “Before we were married. When he broke out. I took money out of my savings account at a bank in Oklahoma to give to Mickey on his way to Mexico.”

“That’s...something we didn’t know already, but we can work with it. We likely can’t go after you for it anyway, since there’s no proof. Banks don’t keep security footage for that long, and putting away Cortez is a bigger deal. We aren’t going to pursue charges for that, and at this point, we don’t care. This is more important, and we need to focus. Now, my work is done here. I have things to get back to.” With that, he said goodbye, briskly told them both he would be back in touch if he needed anything else, and left.

“Well, that was a fucking cheery meeting,” Mickey said sarcastically. “So fucking thrilled about the fact I can’t do what I was looking forward to doing. Knew you couldn’t trust these guys.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, not sounding any more confident than he felt.

Ian felt a rush of panic and severe anxiety at the thought of his life story being picked apart on a witness stand. They would know about Ian’s illegal enlisting in the Army, starting the rotors on that helicopter, running off with Yev and being committed to the psych ward. They would certainly hear about how he became manic and blew up the gay conversion van, and by the end, Ian figured he would be agonizing over whether he even would be a reliable witness.

_To me, Mickey is my life, my world - but to them, he’s a worthless piece of trash, and we are gonna have to come to terms with that yet again. No one else sees any good in him but me, how he’s changed. Maybe that’s all we’re going to be...just trash. Trash who should’ve been kept in prison and left to rot, with nobody giving a shit._

 

* * *

 

As summer turned into fall and the trial date loomed nearer still, Ian found himself leaning more and more on his therapist and psychiatrist to help him get through the anxiety and the fear of the unknown. He told his therapist, Kristen, as much as he dared, but feared disclosing too much, in spite of patient-client confidentiality. Still, he took the rules of the program seriously, even if others in his family didn’t, like Fiona.

“I’m going to be a witness in a big, important trial, it’s going to affect my life and I can’t talk to anyone about it. I shouldn’t be telling you,” Ian said. He’d opted to give her the barest details, minus the nature of the case or location.

“How does that make you feel?” Kristen asked Ian.

“Terrified out of my mind,” Ian answered. “I already spoke with Dr. Owen about having my meds adjusted, and I’m being prescribed some anti-anxiety pills because I’m having such a hard time coping with it. I’ve even been craving cigarettes again,” he added as an afterthought, picking at the nicotine patch on his arm.

He shifted on the couch, fidgeted with his hands and continued talking. “I don’t know how I’m going to even get through all of this without losing my fucking mind. I can talk to my family, but I’ve put them in danger already and they aren’t the ones who are testifying.”

“Well...I can’t speculate on what got you to this point where privacy is such a huge concern, but I completely understand if you can’t tell me, or don’t want to tell me,” Kristen said. “But I’m sure you have people in the DA’s office who have given you some idea of what to expect. It’s a big undertaking to participate in the judicial process, but you’ve got to have faith that if you’re dealing with some bad guys, the law will be able to sort them out.”

“Is that right?” Ian asked.

“Yes. You’re helping put away bad guys, and that should be worth something to you, since it’s a great thing that you’re doing,” she answered him.

“I hope so,” Ian said. “But what happens when family members of yours _ARE_ the bad guys? And I have this terrible feeling something really horrific is going to happen, and that our families are going to be in danger as a result of this. And it scares the shit out of me because if someone does want to harm us, I can’t stop it. I feel so powerless to protect my husband, my siblings. My shithead of a dad died, and I still can’t shake the feeling someone associated with the trial was behind it, even though it was ruled an accident.”

“It’s normal to experience ambivalence about the death of an estranged parent. Talk to your family about how you’re feeling,” Kristen advised. “Lean on them, since this is a huge thing for anyone to have to deal with. For these things you are telling me...it’s important to have a support system, and if your family is there for you, accept their help. Don’t try to go it alone.”

“I feel like it should be freeing to know we’re away from the circumstances we came from,” Ian said. “But it’s not, because it still feels like I’m trapped in a prison. I don’t know who’s out there. I picked my husband, because as we’ve said to each other...we make each other free. This sounds cheesy as fuck, but he’s the only one I’ve ever loved. In a weird way, it’s freeing to know he’s going to be there for me - but he can’t protect me from everything.”

 _Freeing_ , Ian thought. He and Mickey had had this conversation multiple times about being free, but for now, the trial weighed on them like a huge ball and chain. _I really fucking hope we are going to get out of this alive and in one piece_ , Ian thought miserably. _Mickey did this for me, and if it ends up killing him, what’s the point?_

 

* * *

 

The next few days went by without incident. Ian saw Dr. Owen for a follow-up appointment to make sure the patient’s adjusted dosage was working well. He also went to work, grateful that after having worked there for several months, he was getting more hours. The intention was to ask his manager to make him full-time, since he was picking up hours from other coworkers who didn’t want the shifts they were given.

With inexpensive rent, he was in the process of saving up for a car, since he was tired of taking the bus, asking for a ride or using an Uber. Unlike in Chicago, there was no L train here. It was a foregone conclusion that since none of them had any credit history, they would not be able to qualify for a loan, so Iggy offered to look over any junker Ian might find on Craigslist before any money changed hands. Between Iggy and Joey, they offered to fix or repair the prospective car for free.

Their lives in witness protection weren’t quite what Ian was imagining. Even with support of his family, he had known from his research that the feds would not be able to fabricate credit histories. Fiona’s apartment building was paid off, with Max having taken pity on her during her lowest point with Ford and offering to buy her out before they left Chicago. It was a good thing none of them had any debt, Ian supposed.

It was a Tuesday morning when the dam finally broke. Ian was on his break at work, his back sore from heaving five 40-pound bags of cat litter into the back of someone’s car. He was surprised the back end of the customers’ car wasn’t dragging as they peeled out of the parking lot, considering how shitty their vehicle was.  _Not that I can really judge them, since I still don’t even have a car of my own to use._ _I’m probably going to end up driving something just as shitty, but at least I have Iggy and Joey._

After heating up some food he’d gotten from Mighty Taco earlier, Ian checked his phone to see a message from Mandy that made his blood run cold. It was time stamped half an hour ago.

 _Mandy:_ U.S. Marshals are at our door. Get over here now. Fucking important

Barely registering what he was even saying back, Ian texted: _I’m at work. Can’t leave. What the fuck is going on?_

Mandy: Mickey’s at our house now. I’ll wait for him to tell you what happened. It’s serious

Panicking, Ian looked up to see a familiar and welcome face, that of his boss, entering the break room. _Thank fuck._

“I have to go home,” Ian told Jared, his manager. “I’m sorry. There’s an emergency at home...and I’m not feeling well enough to drive. I’m gonna get my brother to come pick me up.”

Jared looked Ian up and down. “Wow. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Go ahead and go home. I will have Ryan finish your shift. Feel better and just get whatever needs to get taken care of done. Call me and let me know if you’ll be in tomorrow.”

It felt like the bottom dropped out of Ian’s stomach as a stabbing pang of fear ran through him. “I...I can’t do this,” Ian muttered. He grabbed the edge of the table where he was sitting, glad that he was sitting down.  _I can’t fucking do this. I just can’t. I bet they found something else on Frank, and it wasn’t an accident after all. My family, Mickey or someone else, is in danger. I can’t do this anymore._


	37. Trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of this chapter deals with Mickey's feelings toward the main event that occurs in this chapter, as well as his feelings on prior events that occurred in S3E6.
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of rape and child abuse. The appropriate sections are marked. If you wish to skip this chapter entirely, I've included a chapter summary in the end notes.

It seemed like an hour had passed by the time Lip pulled into the parking lot of the pet store to pick Ian up. Ian saw Mickey was in the passenger seat of the car with him, looking angry. Natalie sat asleep in her car seat in the back, next to Mandy, blissfully unaware of anything.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ian hissed, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake the baby. “Why did I get a text at work about U.S. Marshals being at the apartment? Is everyone okay? What the fuck is going on that they had to send the feds to talk to us about this shit in person? Is it something else about Frank?”

“Dad’s dead,” Mandy said. “Murdered.”

Ian was relieved and stunned. _It wasn’t about Frank after all, but Terry. The bastard deserved it. Got what he wanted, to die alone, without his family around who hated his guts. But what the fuck will this mean for us and for our safety if they could kill Terry Milkovich, of all people? This time, we all but know for sure it was a cartel hit._

“You heard her,” Mickey said back, voice devoid of emotion. “They think the Mexican fucks I used to run with did it, or somebody associated with our case. Sure as fuck looked like a cartel assassination. They wanted him to hurt. Said they think whoever it was tortured him to try and figure out where we are. He didn’t know shit, so the joke’s on them anyway.”

“He was found with cigarette burns, bruises and stab wounds all over his body, throat slit from ear to ear. They think the cartel got him, because he didn’t come with us into protection and they wanted to send us a message. Think the burns and shit were from them torturing him to find out where we are,” Mandy said. “Good fucking riddance. But I don’t care that the old bastard is dead. I care that whoever killed him might be coming after _us_ next.”

Mickey, as usual, put on an air of defiance and bravado. “Fuckers who killed him aren’t gonna be able to come after us, because he was the fucking dumbass who decided not to enter the WITSEC program and get protected. Not that I give a shit, because I sure as fuck wouldn’t have wanted him to come out here to Buffalo with us. I’m glad he’s dead. They got shit, since Dad had no idea where the feds took us. We’re still safe.”

Ian didn’t know what to make of this, but he had the stabbing anxiety, the fear of reprisal from the cartel on his mind for a long time now - and now this proved he wasn’t simply blowing smoke out of his ass. The cartel threat was still real, and even now, there were men who wanted them dead - and Ian had no idea where they were. Terry was one thing, but what about the rest of the people who were still on the South Side, who didn’t deserve this?

He thought of Kev and V, of even Tommy and Kermit at the Alibi and their neighbors. What about Frank’s brothers and Cousin Patrick? Were the ex-Gallaghers close to their extended family? No, but that didn’t mean they should be brutally killed. How many more people would get sucked into this mess by the time everything was over?

Terry Milkovich made Frank Gallagher look like an altar boy. He beat, raped and abused his children. He was a shitstain on society, but he still had no idea how Mickey would react to the knowledge that his cartel involvement now had very real, tangible ramifications. The previous year, he had had the same thing happen, But Frank’s death, as far as anyone knew and Ian had come to accept as truth, really was an accident. This was clearly no accident, and the cartel wasn’t going to stop until or unless it got closer.

“Mickey, this is real fucking bad. Now that this has happened, nobody at home is fucking safe anymore. None of our family is safe. They gotta do something about-” Ian started.

Ian couldn’t get the last word, the name, out of his mouth. The thought was too horrible.

 

* * *

 

For the next several days, Ian stepped carefully around his husband. Mickey seemed normal, as if nothing had even happened. Ian told his husband he was there for him, that if there was anything else Mickey needed, Ian would provide it. Each time, he was met with a stern “I’m fucking fine, Ian. Fuck off”, before Mickey went to work or stayed moody and sullen.

Ian figured it was bullshit. Mickey had to feel anger. Even with the horrific relationship Terry had with all of his children, Mickey had taken the brunt of the abuse, along with Mandy. As the smallest Milkovich, Mickey had the most to prove, who had to fight the hardest to get the street cred he had back home. He made people fear him. And he carried the deepest secret of all of them - he was gay. The others didn’t have to lie about who they were.

 

* * *

 

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of S3E6 events, child abuse and rape. Chapter summary is included in end notes.

* * *

 

With a heavy heart, Ian recalled how Mickey had reacted after that terrible day when Terry had paid Svetlana to rape him “straight.” Mickey was withdrawn, not even wanting to look at Ian. The memory was too terrible to even consider and revisit. Distancing himself was how Mickey processed pain for as long as he’d known him, but he was waiting for the explosion that was sure to come from keeping it bottled up.

Ian hadn’t spoken of Mickey’s son, knowing this was, understandably, a touchy subject for his husband. But after what had just happened, Ian couldn’t bear the thought of Yev being left exposed and unprotected, for the cartel to find.

“Mickey...do you know what happened with Yev? Do you know if he’s safe, and if he’s all right? And how do you know he’s someplace safe if he’s not in the program? He’s your son...I know we did talk about his, but I need to know.”

The brunet took a long time to answer. “There’s more than what I said. I can tell you more, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it. I think you’re gonna be pissed.”

“Try me,” Ian said. “I haven’t gone anyplace yet, have I? Just try me. And you’re my husband now, so I’d hope we don’t keep any secrets from each other.”

“I signed away my parental rights years ago. Back when I was in jail and Lana came to give me the divorce papers. She was fine with it. Even wanted me to do it, since she wanted better for Yev. Said Kev and V were gonna adopt him - and the courts would’ve seen me as unfit since I was locked up and hadn’t seen him in almost two years. He was better off.”

“You what?” Ian said, dismayed. As much as he’d been deeply hurt by the circumstances in which Terry had forced both Svetlana and Yevgeny onto Mickey against his will, Ian had to admit Yev had grown on him. But Yev would be almost 7 now, and Ian would likely not recognize him. _But_ _he has Mickey’s eyes,_ he reminded himself.

“Yeah,” Mickey said. “Kid probably wasn’t even mine, but Illinois law says I was the dad because I was married to her, even if there wasn’t a paternity test done. It was assumed or some shit. Lana told me she was living with Kev and V, and since they were already helping to take care of him, they were gonna adopt Yev.”

“Yeah, Kev and V were watching him, and taking good care of him,” Ian said. “But Kev and V never got around to adopting him. If anybody did, it was Lana’s new husband.” He sighed before continuing. “I know you don’t know if he was yours. But I miss him. I wanted to see him when you were locked up. But it hurt me too much to see him without seeing you.”

“It hurt _you_ too much? How the fuck do you think it made _ME_ feel that _your_ ass couldn’t even be bothered to see me when I went away? Every other time I went into juvie and got locked up was annoying shit. But when I went away from you, for good...it felt like I was dying. Sounds like sappy bullshit, but it did,” Mickey said, voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion. “And you’re gonna rag on me for giving up Yev when I couldn’t care for him?”

“Why did you give him up? You had the option of having Lana bring him to see you,” Ian said. “Now you can’t see him even if you wanted to, since we’re in the program. But back then, you still had a shot to try and be a decent dad for him.”

“Because I didn’t want to see him!” Mickey spat. “Or her! You fucking seem to forget I had no say in how he came into this world. Maybe I didn’t want to see him when all I think about is what my dad did...and you know as well as I fucking do he’s better off without me. I did it because I wanted him to be something other than what I was - what I still am. A piece of shit. Now he’ll have somebody who can actually provide for him.”

It took a moment for this to sink into Ian’s head. “I...I don’t know what to say. I’m disappointed, because he was part of you, and he couldn’t help how he came into the world. He was your son, Mickey.” Anger made its way into Ian’s voice. “We were once a fucking family together. Now we can’t ever be one, because we’re stuck in fucking Buffalo and I can’t see or talk to one of my _OWN_ fucking brothers because of it!”

At that, Mickey got defensive. “You think I don’t fucking know that? Yev is out there, the cartel just offed my fucking father, and I got no more legal rights to him than I would if I was some random dude on the street. Now I can’t see him even if I _WANTED_ to do it. Fuck!”

Mickey slammed his fist against the wall. “You think this has been easy for me? I have no clue if any of the fuckheads I used to run with could try and fuck with Yev to get to me, either. But I told you. If Svetlana’s hiding, she’s hiding. I’d said it before she’d do damn near anything for that kid. I believe it.”

The wind seemed to go from out of Mickey’s sails as he sank into the couch. “Fucking piece of shit. He beat us if we cried. That’s why I never dealt with any of my shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said.

“You know jack shit, Ian. He beat us. Told us we weren’t men, only little pussy faggots cry,” Mickey said, bitterly. “Didn’t even fucking let us cry when Mom died. She didn’t deserve to go first. He did. And now I should be crying, but I’m not.”

“Mickey, you don’t have to cry or do anything. He was a garbage person. You’ve said it and seen it, and I don’t have to be the one to remind you. Just let it out. I’m here for you,” Ian said.

“You don’t HAVE to be there for me, because I’m fucking fine!” Mickey exploded. He got up from the couch in a quick, harsh movement that startled Ian. _It was the calm before the storm_ , Ian thought fearfully. All he could do was watch it, like a car crash on the side of the highway

“We never could do anything other than beat people up, shoot guns, do whatever made us men. Only the shit he approved of,” Mickey said. He raised his voice. “So what the fuck do you want now, Dad? All I did my entire fucking life was disappoint you, so what are you gonna fucking do now if I cry? What are you gonna do to me now, you fucking shithead?!”

Mickey picked up the end table and slammed it into the floor until it broke. “Huh? WHAT THE FUCK are you gonna do about it now, you fucking asshole! I hate you! I fucking hate you and I’m glad you’re fucking dead! FUCK YOU!”

Ian watched, tears streaming down his face and knowing there was nothing he could do. He needed to let Mickey blow off his steam in the only way he knew now: with violence.

“You fucking stupid piece of shit! You forced a whore to rape me! You tried to turn me straight and made me hate myself for never being able to make you happy...and it’s your fucking fault!” Mickey tossed the broken table leg across the room and watched as it fell.

By now, Debbie, Lip and Mandy all came upstairs to see what was the matter. When they saw Mickey was on the rampage and destroying things in the house, they backed out into the door frame, eyes wide but not terribly surprised.

Mickey showed no signs of stopping. He grabbed a lamp and bashed it into the floor. “Fuck you! You wanted me to be straight? You wanted me to be a big, tough man? Well, FUCK YOU! I’m married to a man and I take it up the ass, and I’m _still_ a fucking tough man who could fuck you up!”

He punched the wall until there was a hole there, then yelled in pain as his knuckles began to bleed. He retreated to the bathroom to clean up, presumably giving little thought to what they would end up telling the landlord, then went into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Ian sank to the floor in despair. He worried if Mickey was going to be okay after this outburst - but now wasn’t the time to talk. He looked down and saw he had missed text messages, all from people who were standing in his presence, so they were a moot point by now.

Ian signed, picking up the pieces of the table and wondering if he could get some wood glue and fix them before the landlord could find out. _The hole in the wall is another story, but can probably just be filled, sanded and painted._

“I can fix it with my tools, Ian,” Debbie said. “Don’t worry about it, I got you covered.”

“Just leave him. This is normal, but I don’t think I need to tell you that,” Mandy added. “And we had to deal with patches in the walls all the time when Dad got drunk and violent. Mickey putting his fist through it is nothing. We got it.”

After making sure nothing else in the house was in any immediate danger, the rest of Ian and Mickey’s family members went back downstairs, presumably with one ear to the ceiling to return at the first sign of any more trouble. Worried about what had happened to the cats during Mickey’s fit of rage, Ian walked into the spare bedroom to find both of them hiding under the bed. He coaxed them out with a bag of treats, and before long, both were sitting on Ian’s lap on the living room couch, purring away happily.

Opting to leave Mickey in their bedroom to stew by himself, Ian put on the TV quietly without really giving much thought to what was on. Granted they both had shitty fathers, but their circumstances were different enough that Ian realized he had no idea what Mickey was going through. The Milkovich family was the one family on their street who had it worse than the Gallaghers.

Ian shuddered as he realized one distinction that separated his upbringing from Mickey’s.

_Frank was a neglectful, lowlife piece of shit, but at least he didn’t freak out when he caught Mickey and me together. At least Frank didn’t beat me and not let me grieve when Monica died._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -They find out Terry Milkovich was murdered by the cartel back in Chicago. There is a significant amount tension because that’s a sign they may not be safe even though they moved to a new city, and the cartel is still trying to go after people associated with Mickey.  
> -Ian is worried Yev may be in danger.  
> -Mickey reveals to Ian he signed away parental rights to Yev when he divorced Svetlana. Ian is upset about this, but Mickey argues he did it to give Yev a chance at a better life. It's hinted he wants to do something within his limited capacity in the future to make sure his son is okay.  
> -Ian asks where they are, and Mickey doesn’t know, but tries to reassure Ian Svetlana wouldn’t let anything happen to him.  
> -Mickey finally lets out his anger about Terry, recalls the horrific things Terry did to him when he was alive, and is glad the horrible bastard is dead.


	38. Returning

****Knowing how Mickey kept his feelings bottled up, Ian waited for another outburst, similar to the one he had experienced when Mickey first found out Terry had died. However, none came. It seemed as if once his husband had blown off the first round of steam, it was all Mickey needed to process the death of a parent who had made Frank look like Danny Tanner from _Full House_.

If anything, it seemed as though Ian was more worried than Mickey was about the ramifications of their involvement with the cartel. It had a real, tangible effect on someone else’s life in their family of origin - shitty family member or not. Ian couldn’t shake a nagging feeling someone could just as easily try to hurt his family here. This time, it would be someone they cared about.

He’d already woken up in a cold sweat after another nightmare about seeing Mickey stabbed in that prison shower, provoking a panic attack and requiring him to use his emergency stash of benzodiazepines his psychiatrist had given him for this specific purpose. It took him some time to realize they were safe, Frank’s death had been an accident and Terry’s death was basically due to his own pigheadedness.

However, Ian tried to stay focused on Mickey’s needs. He tried to give his husband space and time if he did need to talk about it. As it was, he’d visited Dr. Owen to make sure none of his dosages needed to be adjusted. He felt a sense of relief Terry could never bother them again, but with the stress both of them were going through, Ian felt a rollercoaster of emotions.

The ginger had mentioned to Kristen, his therapist, she might be getting a referral in the future. He’d been dropping hints to get Mickey to at least be open about seeing her, doing something for his mental health. No one, not even his tough-as-nails husband, could endure the suffering he’d seen in his short life and not end up scarred, whether Mickey admitted it or not.

“I’m not gonna go see your shrink,” Mickey insisted for the third time since the U.S. Marshals showed up at their door to deliver the news of Terry’s death.

“Mickey. Yes, you need to see her,” Ian explained. “She’ll help. She talks to you. And I think it would do you a lot of good to have someone else to talk to, since you’ve fucking spent your entire life bottling things up and only having outbursts of punching things as an outlet. That’s all you’ve ever known, and I really think you realize.”

The older man sighed. “Ian…” he said. “You know damn well I’m no good at talking about this kind of shit. What do you expect me to say to her? ‘Hey, I’m a formerly fucked-for-life piece of shit from Chicago who got thrown in jail, broke out and bailed to Mexico, and then got a new start in Buffalo, but I ain’t supposed to talk about any of it with you since it’s top secret? By the way, my asshole husband was the one who made me go see you?’”

“You don’t have to be that fucking specific, asshole,” Ian snorted. “When you feel comfortable, talk about the shit you’ve been carrying around and barely talked to _me_ about. And there’s a whole lot of shit. All of your relationship with your father, for one, and now you’re processing his death and mourning a good dad you never had.”

“You know how to fucking beat something to death,” Mickey said. “Fine. You know what? I’ll make a deal. I’ll book one trip to the fucking head-shrinker if you blow me now. I’m horny as a motherfucker and will be in a better mood to deal with this once you fix that.”

Ian smirked. He knew he’d find a way to talk Mickey into getting what he wanted, and to seek much-needed help in the process. It was a win-win for both of them.

“How about if I give you a nice, slow blowjob _and_ then fuck you? Maybe it will help convince you to do this for me,” Ian cajoled. “Forget about this other shit and focus on me.”

“Let’s see about that, Red,” Mickey said, although his confident tone changed into desperate, heavier breathing as Ian pushed Mickey back onto the bed, removed his husband’s shirt and began to pepper his neck and upper torso with kisses. He worked his way to Mickey’s hardening, pink nipples and lightly bit at one and then the other, coaxing a hiss out of the older man.

“Fuck...feels so fucking good, Ian,” Mickey said breathlessly. As he moved downward, Mickey’s hands were in Ian’s hair, and his eyes were rolling back into his head as Ian pleasured him until the redhead was swallowing his release.

Sure enough, after Ian was finishing cleaning up and removing the dirtied sheets from the bed, he soon heard Mickey’s voice on his cell phone, coming from the bathroom, saying, “Hello? This Kristen Irving? I wanna make an appointment for Mickey Gallivan-McGuire. Gotta talk about some sh-I mean, stuff that’s been going on.”

Ian smirked to himself in triumph. _Jackpot_ . _Now I just have to jump him in the bathroom when he’s done and fuck his brains out. I did tell him I would do that, too._

 

* * *

 

As late fall showed its first signs of winter and Thanksgiving came and went, Ian and Mickey’s first anniversary arrived. Ian couldn’t believe it had been a year since he had gotten married to his wonderful man who’d stolen not just food items from the Kash and Grab where Ian had worked back then, but his entire heart as well.

Ian knew full well how Mickey openly disliked most traditional displays of affection and “faggy shit like that,” but secretly could be buttered up to do a limited amount of those things if Ian worked hard enough at it. Therefore, Ian planned a date night for them, recalling their first date they’d had at Duffs shortly after arriving in their new city. He figured Mickey would at least be open to the idea of having another dinner date.

For the first time, Ian and Mickey got into Ian’s car and drove to the restaurant - the car courtesy of Iggy, who had fixed Ian up with an old car from one of his coworkers. Although it wasn’t the newest or prettiest thing in the world, it was still Ian’s car, and it was good for another 100,000 miles since a mechanic owned and maintained it.

“I can’t believe it’s been a year since we got hitched,” Mickey said, shoveling a newly-cut piece of steak into his mouth. They’d opted to go to Outback Steakhouse for their anniversary, since they’d enjoyed it the last time, shortly after they arrived in Buffalo, to celebrate Mickey’s job and - unlikely as it had seemed at the time - employment in a profession that wasn’t illegal.

“Yeah. I remember Lip and Mandy helping me get ready, and how we were hoping Frank wasn’t going to show up and ruin it the way he ruined Fiona’s wedding-that-wasn’t.” He took a sip of his glass of iced tea. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a year he’s been gone. And now Fiona and Iggy are together and renting their own place.”

“My brothers were giving me shit the entire time they were supposed to be helping me get ready for our wedding,” Mickey complained. “Iggy and your sister are a thing, but beyond that, what the fuck are those assholes good for?”

“Getting things off the top shelf your short ass can't reach,” Ian said, grinning like a ghoul as Mickey shot him a look that would have stopped anyone else dead. “Then again, that’s what I’m here for and why you married me.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey said. “What if I said it’s all you’re good for?”

“Then I’d know you’d be lying,” Ian shot back. “I also can take good care of you with this.” His eyes darted down to his own crotch and back up.

“You got me there,” Mickey said. He sat back in the booth. “Two years ago, when you got locked up, did you ever think we’d have left home for good, your brother and my sister would have a kid together, and your sister and my other brother would be fucking?”

“How things change. But you know what the best change is? The fact is you’re now my husband. You’re stuck with my ass,” Ian said. He lowered his voice. “And I get to fuck yours forever, which I don’t think you’re complaining about.”

Mickey chuckled, a smirk on his face and a lack of protest at the mushy sentiment, likely offset by the crude end. “Damn right. Fucking love that part of you, Red. And maybe the rest of you.”

 

* * *

 

Christmas dinner was a low-key affair. Wisely, no one discussed the fact this meant Frank had been dead for an entire year already, since it seemed as though some things were simply better left in the past, including Frank.

To an outsider, everything seemed fairly normal. Lip and Mandy were chatting about some milestone Natalie had reached, while Mickey was tuning it out in favor of eye-fucking Ian across the table. Iggy had gotten a promotion at work, and was now the auto body shop’s supervisor. Lip was taking night courses in between shifts at the motorcycle shop, realizing he had the know-how to do more and an interest in computers and robotics. While he felt too old to go back to school, he could get a degree he’d missed out on before.

However, they could not escape the elephant in the room, which was the fact that the trial was due to start on January 4. The feds would be arriving to pick up Ian and Mickey in five days. Both had been excused from their jobs, with their employers believing they’d be testifying at a trial in Summit County in Ohio, where they were both allegedly from.

They had dinner at the ex-Gallaghers’ apartment that night, Fiona and Iggy visiting from their new place. Once they were done, awkwardly making do with whatever other topics of discussion popped into their heads, the elephant no one initially wished to talk about turned into the primary object of their attention and the main attraction in the zoo that was their apartment.

“Are you doing okay, Ian?” Fiona asked. “If there’s anything you need us to do, then just let us know - but I can’t promise we are going to be able to do anything. We can support you, but this is your thing. Just know we’re safe here, and nobody from the cartel is going to get us. Terry died because he tried to go it alone. But we are together, and we’re alive for it.”

“And nobody’s missing him,” Iggy scoffed. Mickey snorted as well, but didn’t look up from the TV, to which he’d glued himself once dinner was done, trying to find distractions in whatever way he could to avoid driving himself crazy.

“Thanks, Fiona. I can’t shake the feeling something else terrible is going to happen,” Ian said. “It was bad enough to see Mickey almost get killed in front of me. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to one of you, and I won’t be around to do anything to stop it.”

“Ian,” Fiona said. “No matter what it fucking says on our birth certificates and licenses now, we’re Gallaghers. We’ll survive. As for Frank...his time was coming, anyway.”

 

* * *

 

As was their past experience, on the morning of December 30, two men, who were more subtly attired than the ones they’d dealt with in the past but were still recognizably U.S. Marshals, came for Mickey and Ian, having gotten prior notification of which apartment they were living in. The pounding on the door woke up Mandy, who was always a light sleeper, and she came to wake up the two witnesses to get ready to go.

“This is it, guys. Good luck,” Mandy said, giving them a hug as Mickey dashed around the apartment, cursing when he couldn’t find something he needed. “Lip and I will take turns taking care of the cats - their food, water, litter and everything. So...knock ‘em dead. I don’t know what to say to someone who’s going to be testifying in a trial, but go get ‘em. Get ‘em good.”

Ian chuckled, the awkwardness of the exchange contrasting the seriousness of the situation: there were armed men in their apartment, getting ready to take them to a trial back in Chicago that very well could endanger their lives, and did cost the life of Mickey’s shitty father.

“We will, Mandy. Don’t worry about us,” Ian said, sounding more confident than he felt.


	39. Preparing

Ian knew when they would be coming, long before they showed up at the door. He’d been transported this way before. Even so, nothing could really prepare him for the enormity of having these U.S. Marshals, these ones more discreetly-attired than the ones who had come to get him at the hospital in Chicago, yet still fully armed and wearing grim, no-nonsense expressions on their faces. Presumably, they’d gotten word ahead of time Ian and Mickey were both living in the same house, in the upper apartment.

“I’m fucking scared,” Ian told Mickey as the shorter man cursed in his attempts to find his dress shoes.

“It’ll fucking suck for you, I’m not gonna lie. I’m used to this shit, so just try and do what they want and don’t lie on the stand,” Mickey said.

After hurriedly packing their things, they had only the most fleeting of chances to say goodbye to Fiona, Lip and Mandy. The others were either still asleep, or barely coherent enough to come to the front door to say goodbye. While Ian didn’t have his phone out, he knew it must be very early in the morning, probably 3 a.m. Ian’s main goal of this departure was to make sure everyone knew Ian and Mickey were in good hands, and not to worry - particularly since they’d soon be unable to use their phones.

For Ian, it was a bittersweet goodbye. The last time he’d done this, the Marshals had escorted him out of the Chicago hospital after he’d suffered the fractured skull at Beckman, and Mickey had been recovering from his stab wound. That time, they had been taken separately, so it was more than a small comfort to Ian to know how as a married couple, they would be moved together this time. No more would they ever be separated, as Ian foolishly had forced on Mickey in the past. This was the long haul for them.

Both Ian and Mickey were herded into a black van with curtains blocking the windows, and they vanished into the night. Ian held Mickey’s hand, nervous, while his husband squeezed it, as if to reassure him everything would be all right. Ian tried to avoid showing emotion. He’d finally get to help put the bastard who’d tried to murder his husband behind bars, but that was small consolation to him.  _ If they can get Terry, what if they can get us?  _ In this frame of mind, not even the Marshals’ presence helped.

Ian barely noticed when the Marshals put hoods over their faces and put bulletproof vests on them as they got out of the van, on their way to the private plane flying them back to Chicago. It was a strange homecoming, since they wouldn’t be able to see any of the old sights from home. Since nobody else was talking, not even Mickey, Ian sat in silence.

_ At least we get to ride on a plane again _ , Ian said, noting this would be his second time on one, and presumably the same was true of Mickey. He just hoped they weren’t walking into an ambush once they arrived. He thought, unhelpfully, of planes being shot down, of booby-traps being put in mailboxes, but kept these thoughts to himself. He hoped these were Hollywood fictions, and they would safely land in Chicago so they would be able to get this over with and return home in one piece.

 

* * *

 

Once they were on the plane, Ian and Mickey could move freely around without coverings over their heads. There wasn’t any of the talking, banter and laughing of his family’s first-ever plane ride on his way into Buffalo from Washington. While there, one of the Marshals took both of their cell phones, although they couldn’t use them while in the air, and put them into a lockbox. The phones would remain in this lockbox until they were on their way home, part of the rigorous security measures that would be used to keep both of them safe

“Hey, can we get some fucking food in here? I’m starving!” Mickey blurted out. “And get some for Red here, too.”

Ian shook his head as one of the flight crew gave Mickey a dirty look, then proceeded to get some sandwiches, one for each of them. In spite of his nerves, Ian forced himself to eat some more so he could take his meds.

Thankfully, Dr. Owen had given him a fresh supply of pills so he wouldn’t run out in Chicago. It made him feel comfortable and he was sure this would benefit the case, since it would be a terrible idea to put an unmedicated witness on the stand.  _ That’s all they’d need - for Mickey’s would-be killer to go free, and all of this worry and angst to be for nothing. _

The very thought they’d be putting their lives at risk like this, only to result in an acquittal, was more than Ian could bear to think about. It was bad enough the person, or people, who killed Terry could very well come back to finish them off.

“You think the Marshals and the feds know what they’re doing?” Ian asked quietly.

Mickey snorted. “This dance is real fucking familiar for all of them,” he responded. “Just think of it this way: we die, they don’t get shit outta us to help them get a conviction. Pretty fucking good reason to keep us alive.”

The plane landed, and Mickey and Ian were ushered carefully off. Ian had no idea where he was going, barely having avoided falling down the steps when exiting. He figured they were bound for some sort of safehouse, like one of the motels where they had been stashed the first time they’d left Chicago. He presumed they wouldn’t be allowed to freely roam about the hotel, and they would likely not have access to their cell phones. He also made sure to pack plenty of nicotine patches and a new vape he’d bought that they’d been using since they quit smoking. He figured they were in for a boring wait.

Ian heard a car door open, then another, and he was helped into the back seat. He felt Mickey get in next to him on the other side, squeezing the redhead’s hand as if to make sure Ian knew it was him and not another heavily-armed U.S. Marshal. As they drove away, Ian tried to focus on what he remembered of the attempt on Mickey’s life. At one point during his time spent in the hospital, Peterson came by with a stenographer to take his deposition, his account of the events that had happened. Ian assumed at some point, Peterson or one of the other prosecutors would be back to go over it with them.

The car came to a stop, and the engine turned off. One of the Marshals helped Ian out of the car and to his feet. The surrounding air was colder than room temperature, but Ian didn’t feel the cold wind he’d felt when he got out of the car, so he assumed they were in some kind of parking garage or other enclosed structure.

One of the Marshals escorted Ian, his head still covered up, through what felt like a long hallway. They were indoors, Ian could tell, and he had stopped a few times while waiting for his guard to open doors and usher him through them. They walked through one final door. Once his head was uncovered, he could see they’d been set up in a luxurious hotel room. There was a TV, two beds and a bathroom with a tub. Ian wondered how many channels the TV had, before it dawned on him they would not have access to ones where trial coverage was airing.

“Holy shit!” Ian heard Mickey say next to him.

“You will be unable to leave. The room we are currently in adjoins another one, and we will be occupying the one that opens into the hallway,” one of the Marshals said. “We will bring you food, including groceries to go in the refrigerator.”

“Can we get some fucking Slim Jims in here? And some Snickers bars,” Mickey blurted out.

They didn’t acknowledge Mickey’s comment, but said someone from Peterson’s office would indeed stop by to go over the depositions. After the Marshals left, Ian laid back on one of the beds. Mickey walked around, whistling in approval as he noticed how the feds had spared no expense

“Ever thought we’d be in a fucking fancy hotel like this? They actually splurged on us,” he said. “Guess being a snitch really does have its perks, for once. I should do it again.”

“Don’t even fucking joke about that,” Ian warned him. The shorter man put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fucking hell, Gallagher. I was only joking. Don’t shoot,” Mickey said.

Ian got up off the bed and starting pacing. “I’m too fucking nervous to even do anything other than pace around here like a jackass. We don’t have our phones or any Internet. The fuck are we supposed to do in the meantime? I’m gonna be so bored.”

“I can tell you what we’d fucking do in any other circumstance,” Mickey said slyly. “I’d take off my clothes, and I’d bend over so you can start pounding into me.”

Ian stared at him incredulously. “I’m not in the mood,” he said. “How can you think about sex when, for as nice as this hotel is, we are stuck in a fucking box, waiting to get grilled and our asses roasted on a witness stand? That’s if we get there in one fucking piece. Maybe later, but can we fucking wait until we aren’t sure more feds are gonna be coming through that door in the next couple of hours to sort through more of their shit with us.”

Thankfully, a sudden knock on the door gave Ian the answer to his question. After Ian affirmed their presence in the room, the door swung open and a woman neither of them had seen before entered, along with two Marshals, who lined the doorway. She shook Ian and Mickey’s hands.

“I’m Assistant U.S. Attorney Leslie Anderson,” she introduced herself. “I work with Jerome Peterson, whom you already know. I’ll be in, most likely sometime tomorrow, to go over your depositions and brief you on what you can expect at the trial. Needless to say, we have taken every reasonable precaution to ensure your safety.”

“I just wanna get this show on the road already,” Mickey said. “Just tell us what it is and we’ll fucking take care of it so you can get on with whatever it is you have to do.”

“Well...I believe Jerome already told you we’ve got the problem of the defense trying to use your pasts against you, or trying to pit you against each other,” Anderson explained. “Well, we decided the best strategy will be to acknowledge all of your priors so the defense doesn’t have the chance to bring them up. In legal circles, we call it ‘drawing the teeth’ of the opposing counsel so they can’t use them to bite us in the ass.”

“You mean... _you_ are going to have to bring up all of the past things we’ve done, and not the other side?” Ian’s stomach tightened at the thought of being portrayed as a deranged person, not by Cortez’s legal team, but by the people with whom he’d agreed to work. “I thought the defense was going to be grilling us.” _Who’s on trial, Cortez or us? It’s_ _bad enough I’m going to end up getting it from their attorneys._

“Yes,” Anderson said. “We know the defense is going to try and use the fact you, Ian, sustained a concussion and skull fracture against you, and will try to poke holes in your deposition by saying you might not clearly remember what happened that day. Just try to stay focused and don’t let them rattle you. Mickey – you can bet they are going to try and paint you as an unreliable criminal who’s trying to cut a deal. Ian – they are going to try and do the same thing, and paint both of you as trying to get revenge.”

Mickey just shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like I got anything to hide. Just make sure you don’t fucking leave anything out,” he said, smirking. “I got a reputation to protect.”

“Mikhailo...Mickey, we are going to state up front, for the record and the jury, you have a juvenile record including petty larceny, misdemeanor possession, assaulting a police officer. Your record as an adult included conviction and incarceration for attempted murder of Samantha Slott...breaking out of Cook County Correctional...a couple of assaults...and you agreed to testify in exchange for a reduced sentence and immunity from prosecution on the escape charge. They know you’ve got a temper and probably will try to rattle you on the stand.”

“Fine with me,” Mickey said. “But you forgot a bunch of stuff. Don’t fucking sell me short or I’m not gonna go through with blowing this Popsicle stand for you. I had a bunch of Russian hand whores working for me before I was even 20 years old. I was married to one of them because my shitty-ass father made me get hitched to her to try and break me and Ian up. And for the record, what I did to fucking Sammi was self-defense since she was shooting at  _ me _ .”

Ian snorted as Mickey filled her in, her expression unreadable. To his disbelief and amusement, Mickey began to argue with her over whether one of the things he’d done counted on his permanent record or not. However, for as humorous as this all was, Ian felt a sense of dread because he knew what was coming next. He knew the jury would end up hearing all about his past sins, but that wasn’t who he was anymore. He wasn’t a manic, uncontrollable mess anymore, and as hard as he’d tried by forging this new “Ian Gallivan” persona, he couldn’t escape his past, but the jury would never have a chance to see this. His chest tightened as he braced for the potential emotional impact of putting it all out in the open.

“Ian...we’re going to have to state up front, for the record, that you illegally enlisted in the Army using your brother, Phillip’s, identification...were wanted for tampering with an Army helicopter and then going absent without leave. You also were committed to the Cook County psych ward after avoiding charges of kidnapping Yevgeny Milkovich and fleeing with him across state lines, after his mother agreed to drop them. You also were caught on tape helping an extremist vigilante group commit arson and were sentenced to two years at Beckman Correctional for the crime thereof,” Anderson said. “Is that all?”

With that, Ian went numb. He knew he was no saint, but all of those things he’d done were during the times when he was manic and off his meds. He’d hurt Mickey, too, among many other people in his life, by doing those things – but somehow, he had the presence of mind to remember something else he’d done even before bad shit went down between himself and Mickey, back when Fiona was still dating Jimmy/Steve, the professional car thief.

“My brother also was caught with me in a stolen car when I was 16,” Ian added. “I didn’t steal the car. I was just in it at the time. My sister’s ex-boyfriend stole it.”

“Not a big deal,” Anderson said. “We already knew about that because there was a record of it with the police from back when you and your brother were taken in by Chicago PD. But thanks for telling me. They probably weren’t even going to bother with that.”

From there, Anderson walked each of them through their depositions, the statements that they had given to Peterson about who, what, where, when and why of the hit on Mickey. Ian remembered telling him this, but it almost seemed robotic to go over it now. He’d had so many sleepless nights and nightmares over what happened that to talk about it almost made it feel like he was on the outside looking in, like a stranger had been stabbed.

Later on in the day, Foxx from the State’s Attorney’s office and an assistant district attorney also came into the room to prep them for the trial, going over the depositions again. By this point in time, Ian felt more like they were preparing for a part in a movie than a trial. Although this gave him some idea what to expect, and Ian knew that the feds and the state prosecutors certainly did not want their witnesses to go into the courtroom and get blindsided, little of it helped.

When she was there, Ian brought up the issue again of what to do about the fact that they could not testify against Sammi. Foxx explained that any discussions about her were already barred from the courtroom discussion in the Cortez case, as speculation about prior bad actions would not be allowed. Such questions would be immediately shot down if they were even brought up at all, since the burden of proof was on the prosecution to prove that there was a connection. All the defense had to do was simply cast reasonable doubt.

_ Great, so she’s just going to walk, and she’ll still be out there! _ Ian didn’t want to voice this, but it cast an immediate pall over their moods. She had been kept at Southgate for additional time due to behavioral issues in prison, but she’d gotten the same sentence Mickey originally got before brokering the deal by rolling on the cartel. It would not be long before she’d be back out on the streets of Chicago, and it killed Ian to think of that.

Once everyone had left, Ian knew it was a foregone conclusion that they would end up having sex at some point, since there wasn’t much else to do in here. Since this was himself and Mickey he was talking about, he knew they wouldn’t end up playing Boggle for eight more hours until bed, but he didn’t want it to be quick, rough-and-tumble like they’d had as kids. He wanted to take his time, at least on this particular occasion.

“Come here,” Ian said. “I want you. I want all of this stupid shit – the cartel, the trial, and all of the other things I don’t want to think about – to go away for now. Just you.

“I gotta take a shower and clean up first. I stink like a motherfucker,” Mickey complained.

Mickey went into the bathroom to shower, and when he came back, he was fully naked, his form as pleasing to Ian as it was the first time they’d ever fucked in this very city, in the Milkovich family home. A pang of nostalgia hit Ian as he wondered what was going to happen to that house now that Terry was dead and his children were gone. He thought about it for a second, and realized he didn’t really give a shit about that. As much as he sometimes pined for their old surroundings, their old home, that was in their past

“Speaking of the cartel,” Ian said, “you still haven’t done anything about that tattoo on your arm. You wear your shirts with the sleeves cut off and walk around like that at home, and that’s a big fucking problem. Fix it when we get back.” 

“Fine,” Mickey grumbled. “But I don’t give a shit about that now. Just want you to fuck me.”

Ian carefully, lovingly prepped Mickey open with his fingers as the smaller man lay on his back on the bed, Ian planting kisses first on his lips, then his neck and shoulders. Once Ian could tell that Mickey was ready for him, he climbed on top of him, between the pale, spread thighs and entered his husband. Ian didn’t want this to be one of their typical, rough sessions of fucking, although Mickey had become more open to the idea of slower, more passionate sex since after he’d come out at the Alibi. Ian wanted this to be the latter, since it happened so infrequently.

Ian was in awe of how Mickey, always the bottom -  _ except that one time _ \- but never, ever submissive  _ \- at least that he would ever admit _ \- was just lying back and taking this. The tattooed fingers clung to Ian’s back, digging into the skin but not hard enough to leave marks. Mickey moaned softly, the moans becoming louder as Ian angled his thrusts to hit his husband’s sweet spot. Mickey reached between their joined bodies to start stroking his own hard, leaking cock. His fingernails dug further into Ian’s freckled skin. They both panted harder as they reached their mutual release.

“I love you,” Ian told Mickey as he exploded into him, the smaller form underneath him blissful in knowing that this kind of sex needed to be a more common occurrence.

 

* * *

 

That night, as they prepared to go to sleep early – there was a small analog clock in the room, which said it was only 9 p.m. - Ian thought again about the literal list of crimes he’d committed, and been accused of, during his short life back here in Chicago. He reflected again on how he’d come a long way since he blew up that van. Now that he’d escaped, it was like hands trying to pull him back.

_ This isn’t who I am anymore. I once was lost, broken, but then I found Mickey again. He helped me through all of that, and once this is over, I never have to deal with any of this shit ever again. We get to go back to our freedom. _

He supposed this was the price he had to pay. He hoped it would be worth this...but as he looked across the room to Mickey, blue eyes shining, he knew it would be. As they drifted off to sleep, it dawned on Ian that this was the home stretch, and he would finally get what he’d wanted: the chance to be with Mickey, this time forever. They both just had to be strong enough to make it through the trial to get themselves to that point.


	40. Trial, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I extend a huge, huge thank you to Syllis, without whose help and expertise I would not have been able to write this chapter or the following one, which I am currently working on.

Days later, Ian and Mickey were both going stir-crazy. They had gotten food brought in to them in the form of takeout food and groceries to go into the refrigerator and freezer in the room. A section of the floor was roped off and doors locked so they could be escorted to and from an exercise room, but they otherwise could not leave. It had dawned on Ian that this floor was vacant, and this building was likely also being used to house other witnesses they’d never see.

As Ian ran on the treadmill, it at least gave him an outlet aside from being cooped up in the room where Mickey was, watching some show the younger man didn’t really care about. They were allowed to watch Netflix and Hulu, but little else, as they were forbidden from watching any part of the trial. It had already begun, but they were subpoenaed to appear when they would be needed. Ian was to be called first, and then Mickey – and they would leave once Mickey was done. They were not sure if they would need to return to Chicago for more testimony once this was done, as Cortez was liable to be up for more charges to net him more time in prison.

Ian hoped against hope they would not need to come back here again. In many ways, he thought, it was painful to be back in his hometown, yet unable to see many of the sights and sounds to which he’d become accustomed. While the dirty, rugged streets of the South Side were by no means glamorous, it was all he’d known growing up. He hadn’t known anything other than poverty and having to beg, borrow and steal to get by. Ian was mostly glad to be out of it, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he could sneak off to the bleachers where he and Mickey used to go for their trysts when they were kids.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning Ian was to begin testifying, the Marshals gave him half an hour’s notice that he had to shower, eat, and get dressed. They’d provided clothes for both Ian and Mickey to wear, since Peterson and the attorneys for the federal government hardly wanted the witnesses to go in front of a jury looking like slobs. Ian tugged at the sleeves as he put on his outlet - a dress shirt and pants that fit him well enough.

“Knock ‘em dead, Red,” Mickey said, with a glancing expression of sadness on his face. Mickey would be stuck here all day while Ian was in the courtroom, and Ian knew the same would end up happening later when Mickey was brought in to give his testimony.

The prosecutors had informed him of the various security measures that would be used to keep them safe, such as a ban on any courtroom sketches being made of the faces of Ian, Mickey or any of the other protected witnesses. No cameras were permitted inside, and even the jurors’ identities were kept confidential to protect them from cartel retribution. Ian had to keep reminding himself it was worth it. He knew none of this was going to be easy, and he’d known going into this what it would mean to have to testify as a protected witness. It was intimidating.

 _Not as intimidating as having to stare down the man who nearly took my husband from me_ , Ian angrily thought, trying to fight back any form of emotion as his head was covered up and he was led from the room. He hoped he’d have the strength to actually do it.

Although he could not see where he was going, Ian knew some of the procedure from reading the book he had in his apartment, about the history of the WITSEC program. He recalled how the feds kept their witnesses safe: they were sometimes brought into courtrooms in creative ways, like on boats or taking them on seemingly-insane routes through cities before they were brought in. The hope was to deflect suspicion or anyone who might try to follow them.

Ian kept walking as the Marshals led him onwards. He stepped onto a few elevators, wondering if there was an underground tunnel system that led from the hotel where they were staying into the federal building. He supposed nothing was impossible, especially considering the fact that this was definitely not the first time a trial involving cartel or gang members took place here.

From there, he continued, stopping when a door was opened in front of him and feeling himself get onto another elevator. Once it opened, Ian walked further until he was told a chair was being put behind him. He sat down, and one of the Marshals removed the covering from his eyes. He was in a private room, he presumed, of the sort where court employees and attorneys typically would occupy when court was not in session.

At some point, someone brought Ian a chicken sandwich and a carton of milk. Ian nibbled the former and drank the latter, but he was too nervous to eat much. He couldn’t hear anything that was going on inside the courtroom, and the anticipation was overwhelming.

“Ian Gallagher?” a Marshal said, coming up to Ian. “You’re about to be called to the stand.

Escorted by the burly, armed man, Ian walked through a set of doors and into the courtroom. He blinked. There were people everywhere, and the bright lights were jarring to his eyes after being in the relatively-dark room from which he’d came. It was too bright, expansive, and there was a low murmur of voices from the gallery area he tried to tune out as he stepped across the room and approached the witness stand.

His fear did not go away as the judge, whose name plate read “Hon. Thomas Edwards,” looked in Ian’s direction. Ian’s instinct was to look away. The bailiff approached and asked Ian to raise his right hand and swear an oath:

“Do you solemnly swear you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff asked Ian, reciting it like a drone. Ian wondered how many times this man had had to repeat the same thing to people who just ended up lying anyway.

“I do,” Ian said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought it was. He thought to himself that he’d have to state his name for the record and wondered how he would avoid the problem of perjuring himself, but thankfully Peterson was one step ahead.

Peterson stood up. “Let the record show this witness has entered the federal WITSEC program, so we are not going to reveal his new name to the jury or for the record. Instead, we will be referring to him by his birth name, which is Ian Gallagher.”

“So noted,” the court reporter said in response.

“Please confirm for the record: were you serving a two-year sentence for arson?” Peterson asked.

Ian gulped. _This is it. They’re all going to see what a fucking head case I am, and they’re all going to judge me for it. I hope they are still going to believe me and they won’t just throw out all of my testimony as the ravings of a madman._ “Yes.”

“You pled guilty but mentally ill, and you were sent to Beckman Correctional Facility to serve your sentence out there?” the prosecutor asked.

“Yes.”

“You stated, in your deposition, that the reason why you committed this crime was because you were going through a manic episode,” Peterson said. “You participated in a movement that opposed gay conversion therapy. A friend rigged a van that was going to take a teenager to a conversion camp, to ‘treat’ homosexuals, to explode. You helped him?”

“Yes,” Ian said, knowing there was worse to come.

“You stated you did this because you believed it was “the right thing to do, to protect an at-risk teen from being sent to conversion therapy?’”

“Yes. That’s what I wanted,” Ian said, his guts twisting at the thought of how off the rails he had been at the time. But at the time, he knew what he was thinking: he had wanted to save other kids from the same fate his now-husband suffered. He wanted to protect more kids from the horrors of having homophobic parents who pitied them, from creating more Mickeys who would be beaten, cursed at and hated for their very existence as wrong. _They were wrong._

From there, the prosecutors, alternately, proceeded to go through the entire list of Ian’s offenses. He had to mentally brace himself as they went through the entire list, ranging from the time the Chicago police had caught Lip and Ian in Jimmy/Steve’s stolen car to the whole Army fiasco. He felt as though the eyes of the world were on him. He felt shame, knowing in his present state of mind, now that he was mentally well, he would never do it now.

However, he wanted to refrain from visibly showing emotion. Ian had practiced it well when he tried to deny his feelings for Mickey, when he’d visited his then-ex in jail. Ian thought, back then, he’d never see the man who’d done so much, and sacrificed so much for him, again. He recalled how all he wanted was a stable, medicated life and believed, at that time, Mickey didn’t fit into that picture. Little did he know how useful that coping mechanism - the coldness, the detachment - would end up being now, to save Mickey. _What an idiot I was back then. I needed him more than he needed me, which is saying something._

“Have you maintained your drug regimen since then, and have you engaged in any criminal behavior since leaving Gowanda Correctional once leaving Chicago?”

“Yes and no.”

“Let the record show the witness has indicated he has maintained his drug regimen, and that he has engaged in no further criminal behavior since being transferred from Beckman Correctional to his new location,” Peterson said.

The prosecutor cleared his throat before continuing. “Mr. Gallagher,” Peterson said. “Please describe, for the record, where you were on the morning of April 10, 2019, when the alleged offense occurred.

“I was in the protective custody unit of Beckman Correctional Facility,” Ian answered. “We were on our way to the showers after eating breakfast.

“Who else was there with you?”

“Mickey. A CO - his last name was Williams -  led us to the shower area, and Mickey was on the other side of the room when we started to take our showers.”

“Was there anyone else in the room with you at that time?

“No. Nobody else walked into the showers until after we’d gotten there. We were by ourselves when we got there.”

Peterson proceeded to ask questions about the physical description of the two men who’d walked into the shower room after Mickey and himself. He thought back to the shorter, bearded man who was with the taller man Ian now knew to be Cortez. While Ian’s deposition had been taken, he was second-guessing himself, hoping he’d recorded everything correctly and that all of the facts were straight in his head. It was too much, like a sack of flour overflowing with too much product. _Stay focused,_ he reminded himself.

“Is one of the two men you saw that morning in this room?” Peterson asked Ian.

“Yes.” Ian gulped, knowing that this was the moment he was waiting for.

“Please indicate, for the record and for the jury, who you saw enter the shower area.”

“I know what he looks like. He’s right there,” Ian said, pointing at Cortez.

“Let the record indicate that the witness has identified Pablo Cortez, the defendant,” Judge Edwards stated. A low murmur went up around the courtroom, and Ian couldn’t read the tone of the room. He just hoped, yet again, that this wasn’t going to be in vain.

In the deposition, he’d described the Spanish-language tattoo he had on Cortez’s arm, affirmed he had never seen him before that day, and what happened immediately leading up to the incident. Ian was glad that all of what he’d said right after the fact was written down in his deposition, even though he knew he wouldn’t forget. He’d never forget the second time he’d seen his husband almost brutally killed in front of him, as long as he lived. It was bad enough that he was in too much shock to do anything to Sammi the first time.

“You have stated that you saw Mr. Cortez walk in with a bundle in his arms, and that the bundle appeared to be a towel and a pile of clothing. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see what was inside the bundle?

“No. He had whatever it was wrapped up inside the towel, so I couldn’t see.” _But I wish I had._

“Do you know who the other man was who walked in with Cortez?”

“No. I’d never seen him before.”

“But he drew the attention of Mr. Milkovich?”

“Yes. He whistled at him and made a comment about him, sexually.”

“And Mr. Milkovich responded to him with an angry comment?”

“Yes. Mickey said, ‘The fuck are you looking at? I ain’t nobody’s bitch.’ Then there was an exchange from there where they argued about it.”

“You then stated that someone grabbed Mr. Milkovich. Do you know who that man was?”

“No, but he came in the room afterward,” Ian said. “He was big and tall.”

“You stated that this ‘big and tall’ man grabbed Mr. Milkovich and restrained him from behind?

“Yes. And then I saw someone walk up to Mickey and stab him.”

More murmuring rippled throughout the courtroom. Peterson seemed, though, as if he was not done, and motioned to someone to bring something up on the large screen that both of the teams of attorneys had been using to display evidence that they wished to show the jurors and the other people who were in the gallery of the courtroom.

“You described the knife,” Peterson said. “You described it as ‘an actual knife,’ not a run-of-the-mill prison shiv,’ according to your deposition. Is that correct?”

“Yes. It didn’t look like something he’d made out of cafeteria trays and a spoon.”

Peterson then gestured to the screen. “Exhibit 6, Your Honor. The knife that was recovered from the crime scene,” Peterson said. “Note that the knife matches the description, that Mr. Gallagher has just given us, of the weapon.”

Ian privately thought that he really didn’t need to see the knife again, and that he would have been more than happy to put such a thing into the back of his mind forever. He thought back to all of the nightmares he’d had, hoping they would now stop, now that he had no reason to even have to recall these details ever again. _But that’s likely wishful thinking._

For the rest of Peterson’s direct examination, Ian went mostly on autopilot. He hated to recall the details of what had happened, but he again confirmed all of what Peterson relayed back to him from the deposition. He recalled how Mickey had slumped to the floor like a lifeless heap. He’d screamed, barely even recognizing the sounds he’d made as human.

Peterson similarly walked Ian through how the redhead had grabbed Cortez’s arm after he had plunged the knife into Mickey’s gut. Ian knew he’d never forget seeing Mickey’s blood staining the blade, and he worked to keep from crying on the stand, knowing any display of emotion would make him look weak. Privately, he thought that Mickey was better at this kind of thing than he was, and he’d likely fare better on the witness stand than he was doing now. _I hope that I’m doing a good job. I hope that I’ll make Mickey proud now._

“What happened afterward?” Peterson inquired. “Do you recall what happened?”

“No, I don’t. I’d been hit over the head and blacked out, but I clearly remember everything that happened before that point,” Ian said.

“Let the record indicate that the witness was struck on the head with an unidentified metal object, and suffered a concussion and simple skull fracture as a result,” Peterson said. “The deposition was taken in the hospital where Mr. Gallagher was being treated.”

“Do you remember anything that happened on the way to the hospital?”

“No, I don’t. I remember waking up in the hospital after everything had happened.”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Peterson said.

After more questioning about the horrible day Ian would have rather forgotten, Judge Edwards called for a recess, and Ian was escorted out of the courtroom by two of the U.S. Marshals. They would be given an hour before court would resume.

 _At least I got to answer “yes” to the question about not being unmedicated and crazy anymore._ The thought slightly cheered Ian up, but he still felt anxious and sick about the prospect of what was coming up: the cross-examination. He figured he would not be able to hold down another chicken sandwich during this recess, even if he got one.

  
_It’s all for Mickey_ , Ian reminded himself.


	41. Trial, Part 2

Contrary to what he’d thought earlier, Ian was able to keep down the small lunch he’d been given during the recess. Unfortunately, the food did little to actually calm the queasy feeling he still had in his stomach. He knew now why so many victims of crime were reluctant to press charges - because this entire situation was extremely stressful, and he hadn’t even been subject to the cross-examination yet, which he knew would be the hard part.

“Mr. Santos, you may approach the bench,” Judge Edwards said.

Ian saw Eduardo Santos, the lead counsel for Cortez, say something to his client in Spanish before standing up. He approached the witness stand, and it felt to Ian like someone had grabbed his guts and twisted them. He had prepared and known this was going to happen, but now was the time when he knew he’d be put through the wringer. He knew, all in all, he was going to have to be strong to make it through this hell.  _ For Mickey. _

“Mr. Gallagher,” Santos said. “You’ve stated, for the record and the jury, you committed the crime of arson because you were going through a manic episode and have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you were diagnosed in 2015?”

“Yes.”

“This was after you were committed to Cook County Psychiatric Center and nearly court martialed, after illegally enlisting in the military?”

Ian shifted in his chair. Santos wasn’t being antagonistic toward him, but Ian wasn’t fooled. This man was here to defend the man who tried to murder Mickey. While a small portion of Ian’s brain knew Cortez, like any other criminal defendant, was entitled to legal counsel and this was merely part of the process, the larger portion wanted to jump off this witness stand, leap across the room and attack Cortez.  _ But that won’t do any good. _

“Yes,” Ian said, grudgingly.

“This was also after you fled across state lines with a minor, one Yevgeny Milkovich, without the consent of his mother, Svetlana Yevgenivna, then known as Svetlana Milkovich?”

“Yes.”

“And you pled guilty but mentally ill to the crime of arson in 2018, after leading a vigilante social movement to oppose homophobia, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, that would indicate that even after these very close brushes with the law, you still saw fit to stop taking your medication, against the wishes of those who advised you to take it, and seeing your psychiatrist, as directed, as a condition of your release?”

“That’s not the -” Ian started.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Santos pushed him.

Judge Edwards looked over at Ian. “Please answer the defense counsel’s question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no,’ Mr. Gallagher.”

“Yes,” Ian answered. It made him feel sick.

As much as Ian had braced himself for this kind of cross-examination, he had to admit Santos had a point. He was the one who had chosen to stop taking his medication. Shame and doubt clouded his mind and he fought back emotion, knowing any such open display would put the case in jeopardy. As hard as it was, he forced himself to continue.

“Wouldn’t that seem to indicate you were responsible for your actions, and you were the one who caused all of these terrible things to happen to yourself?”

Ian could feel himself shaking with rage, but thankfully he held his ground and simply stared back defiantly.  _ Fucking bastard! You fucking - _

“Objection! Relevance,” Peterson stepped in. “What does that have to do with now?”

“Sustained,” Judge Edwards said. “Move this line of questioning along, please.”

“Withdrawn.” Santos seemed to be carefully considering his words before continuing. He then paused, scrutinizing Ian in a way that made the redhead deeply uncomfortable.

“You have admitted to communicating with, and also helping Mikhailo Milkovich escape from prison, when he escaped from a state facility in late 2016, correct?”

Ian’s blood ran cold.  _ This man isn’t fit to even speak Mickey’s name. How dare he? _

“Yes,” Ian said, gritting his teeth as he spoke the word.

“Is it true he was convicted of the attempted murder of your half-sister, Samantha Slott and, in fact, that is the very reason why he was incarcerated in the first place?”

“You –” Ian barely contained his rage. “I never saw him do anything!”

“Were you aware of his prior extensive criminal history, both as a juvenile and an adult?”

_ Fuck you! _ “Yes,” Ian said.

“Objection!” Peterson said, standing up. “This is irrelevant, as Mr. Milkovich isn’t the one who’s on trial here.”

“It goes to the witness’ credibility, Your Honor,” Santos said. “It establishes that Mr. Gallagher has further demonstrated extremely poor judgment that extends to his choice of those with whom he chooses to associate.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Edwards said, “but keep the focus on Mr. Gallagher and not on the actions of someone who, as Mr. Peterson stated, is not on trial here and will have time to speak later.”

Santos resumed his questioning. “And you married him regardless of his criminal background?”

“Yes. I love him. And he hasn’t committed any crimes since,” Ian said, swelling with pride in being able to stand up for Mickey in court, even in this small way.

“And is it true that you are not being prosecuted on that offense as a result of a plea agreement under which you agreed to testify in this case?” Santos asked.

“Yes.”

Ian felt sick from the barrage of questions. He’d known ahead of time he was not supposed to talk or otherwise contribute any information, but was still nervous and - in spite of how much he had gone over the possibilities for what would happen ahead of time, with Peterson’s help - unsure of what to expect, since all of this was totally new to him. He just wished he could be able to contribute more than simply “yes” or “no” responses.

He was cut off from talking further and wasn’t even able to explain any of the reasons  _ why _ he’d stopped taking his medication. He knew he’d be portrayed as a lowlife, a fuck-up, the same things he’d thought inside his head. He knew it was all for Mickey, but none of that would do anything to make him feel better.  _ Fuck this shit, Ian thought. I just want all of this to be over. I fucking want Mickey, and he’s going to have to sit through the same thing. _

Santos paused for a minute before continuing. “You stated that you had never met Mr. Cortez, or seen him anywhere in the prison before this alleged ‘incident’ took place. Can you confirm that this is true?”

“Yes.”

“So you had no reason to suspect, or believe in any way, that my client had any prior interaction with Mr. Milkovich, or any reason to harm him?”

“No.”

“My client has claimed he acted in self-defense. You will see that the People will be producing another witness, but  _ that witness’ _ testimony is also that of a man trying to avoid jail time.”

“Objection!” Peterson said. “Form of the question. Mr. Santos is now testifying. Move to strike. Also, we in fact  _ can _ produce another witness who can corroborate Mr. Milkovich and Mr. Gallagher’s version of events that morning, but that’s not within the scope of these proceedings right now. The ladies and gentlemen of the jury will hear from him in due time after Mr. Gallagher has finished giving his testimony.”

_ Another witness?  _ Ian had no idea who this third witness was, but he knew that now was not the time or place to ask, and he doubted Peterson would share this information.

“Sidebar,” Judge Edwards said. “The jury will disregard the previous comment. Counsel, please approach.” Ian wasn’t sure what that meant, but at that moment, the attorneys for both sides walked to an area near the judge’s bench and spoke in hushed tones that seemed to be heated. Ian couldn’t hear what was being said at all, but he figured something in the line of questioning had gone out of the realm of what was acceptable.

Once they were done talking, Santos approached Ian again. “You also mentioned my client’s tattoo on his arm. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if any other inmates in Beckman Correctional had similar tattoos?”

“No,” Ian responded.

“Exhibit 2, your honor,” Santos said, gesturing to another picture that was brought up on the display screen in the courtroom. “This is a common Spanish language tattoo, particularly in Mexico, that could have a number of meanings. There were four other inmates in general population at Beckman Correctional who had this same one at the time of the alleged attack. Do you know for a fact that you saw my client, and not one of them?”

“I know who I saw,” Ian said, as matter-of-factly as he could, given the circumstances.

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do,” Santos said, a note of irritation in his voice.

“Yes!” Ian said, barely managing to maintain his composure.  _ Fucking asshole trying to make me question my memory! I will never fucking forget who I saw, or what happened. _

“Are you sure? You picked him out of a photo lineup after you’d been hit in the head,” Santos said. “But how do we know that your word is reliable?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Ian said vehemently.

“Objection!” Peterson interjected.

“Sustained,” Judge Edwards said. “Let the answer stand."

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Your Honor.”

On the redirect, Peterson approached and asked Ian, “While in the hospital, you were evaluated and treated for your concussion and skull fracture. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember what day you did the photo lineup?”

“I’m not sure of the date.”

“What was going on?” the prosecutor asked.

“I was waiting for the doctor to sign off on my release from the hospital,” the witness answered.

“Were you feeling well then?”

“Yes, I felt perfectly fine,” Ian said.

“So you were not in any sort of impaired condition when you made the identification, nor are you in any impaired condition now, while you are on this witness stand?”

“No,” Ian said. “I’ve been on my meds this entire time. I’m not crazy!”

Peterson held his hand up. “Mr. Gallagher. You have diligently maintained your drug regimen?”

“Yes,” Ian said.

“You have not had any symptoms, that you are aware of?”

“No.”

“Are your thoughts clear at the moment, and were they clear then?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions.” Peterson returned to take a seat.

Santos stood back up and approached Ian. “You have stated, for the record, that you were hit in the head and could not remember what happened after the unfortunate incident involving Mr. Milkovich. Do you recall seeing my client leave the shower area?”

“No.”

“Do you recall anything that happened after you were hit in the head at all?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, your Honor. One more question: do you recall touching the knife at all?”

“Yes,” Ian said, but he was livid at the slightest implication that he had hurt Mickey.  _ Is he seriously fucking trying to suggest I was the one who hurt him? _ His voice shook with anger. “But I’d never hurt him! Ever! You -” 

From his position at the table where he was sitting, Peterson stood up. “Your Honor, we would like to request a brief recess to confer with this witness.”

Judge Edwards responded, “I will grant this request. Mr. Gallagher, you are excused for a 15-minute recess.”

Ian sagged in his seat, mentally exhausted even though he still had to stay for even more. He robotically went through the redirect with Peterson, affirming the details from his deposition. While Ian was speaking, he looked in the direction of the jury box, as if to silently plead with them:  _ Do the right thing and put this man in jail. He tried to kill my husband. He tried to murder Mickey. _

Ian only hoped that they did, in fact, have enough proof to get a conviction, because he didn’t think that he’d done a good enough job on his own to save his husband.

_ Peterson said that there is another witness, Ian thought. Someone else saw what happened, and maybe that someone else might be able to save the case. _


	42. Closing

After Ian was done testifying for the day, the Marshals repeated the same routine that had gotten him into the courtroom. Head covered, out of the watchful eyes of the gallery, reporters and press and other witnesses, it felt like a perp walk until he got back to the hotel. He longed to talk to Mickey about the case, but had been warned multiple times about how witnesses were not supposed to talk about unfinished cases.

“Ian,” Mickey said. “How’d it go? You hold up on the stand, or they get to you?”

Ian broke down in tears, all pretenses of trying to hold it together dropped now that they were in private. Mickey could do little but hold and comfort him, knowing the worst was over.

“I hate this shit,” Ian said once he was coherent enough to talk. “Want to go home.”

“Shhh. It’s all right,” Mickey answered.

“Please fucking tell me this is going to be worth it,” Ian said miserably. “I felt like it was me on trial, and not the fucking cartel bastard. And now I can’t even fucking talk about what happened, because they’re probably gonna ask you under oath if we did talk about it. You’d perjure yourself.”

Mickey shook his head. “That’s what they warned you was gonna happen. That’s what I warned you. They were gonna put you on the stand and try to roast your ass - use your priors against you. And that’s why the attorneys for the feds told you ahead of time...so you’d be ready. They try to use you against me? Don’t you worry about telling me. I won’t say nothing.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, sniffling. “I didn’t give you up.  Santos asked me about you, but I didn’t say anything bad. I fucking swear, Mick.”

“Damn straight you didn’t. But they have a way of putting people under pressure and making them admit to shit they didn’t do,” Mickey said. “Or shit they didn’t see, just to make it all go away and get it all over with faster.”

“I need a fucking cigarette. Or a drink,” Ian said. He pulled out the vape he’d somehow managed to not get confiscated. “This sucked. And part of me is glad I don’t remember what I did after you got stabbed, because then I’d have more shit to lose sleep over. Do you remember what happened that morning? I never asked you…”

“It’s fuzzy, but I do remember some,” Mickey said. “Nobody’s gonna know or tell if we talk some about the case...I was trying to keep my guts from falling out, but I remember seeing you grab the knife outta his hand. It’s okay. They found your fingerprints on it, but they know it ain’t you who did it. You tried to save me. I told them.”

“I know,” Ian said after inhaling some of the flavored vapor. “But I don’t remember it myself. I couldn’t talk about how I tried to fucking help you, because then I would’ve had to lie on the stand about remembering it.”

“Hey,” Mickey said. “It’s in my deposition you didn’t do anything to hurt me. You did your EMT shit and I wouldn’t be fucking alive if you didn’t stuff that towel in me...and if you do wanna talk about it or the case, keep your voice down so the Marshals don’t hear. It won’t be the first time I had to lie about shit. Been lying my whole life to everybody. Never you.”

Ian shook his head. “I never wanted to talk about any of this until now. I didn’t want to think about it at all, and this made me do nothing but that. I don’t even want to sit here in this hotel room while you go in tomorrow to testify.”

“I’ll be fine, Ian,” the brunet reassured him. “You know me. I don’t give a shit if they chew my ass out, go through my priors, because I own that shit. I own all of it, and there’s nothing they can do to scare me. After working for a Mexican drug cartel, I think it’s fucking hilarious how they think they can intimidate me.”

Ian wasn’t reassured. “Now I don’t know if I want to have a drink or punch something. All I do know is I fucking need something to take my mind off of this shit.”

“I got something in mind,” Mickey said. “Come here. Just lie down on the bed with me and I’ll help you forget about the cartel, fucking Eduardo Santos and all those other fucks.” He sat on the bed and pulled the taller man into him. “It’ll be alright. We’ll fucking make it through this horseshit, go back home - can’t believe I said that - to Buffalo and move on with it.”

The redhead sighed and embraced his husband. “This sucks. This sucks so much ass.”

Mickey raised one of his eyebrows in its trademark arc. “There’s an idea for what to do.”

Laughing in spite of himself, Ian shook his head. “You really have a way with words,” Ian said, “but yours actually is a fucking good idea to help me with this shit.”

The brunet pulled Ian back onto the bed, two bodies landing in a heap on the large hotel bed. “Come here, Army. Remember how I used to call you that?” Mickey purred in Ian’s ear. “Guess since it’s your new cover story for what you did before you came to live in Buffalo, you’re still Army to me. Works okay for me.”

“Guess so,” Ian said. “And I’m guessing that you want to do a lot more than just this now.” 

“Damn straight,” Mickey said. “Or not fucking straight. Get on me, tough guy.” 

Smirking at the bad joke, Ian began helping Mickey disrobe. Once they were both down to their boxers, Ian took a minute to admire his husband’s body - the firm muscle underneath his pale skin, the contrast between his dark hair and the deep blue eyes that looked lovingly at him, but glared menacingly at the rest of the world. No one else would ever see this side of Mickey.

“I want you,” Ian said. “I want you...wanted you all fucking day, and I want you to help me forget about what I went through today. The fucking relentless questions, the going through my past. None of it fucking matters.”

“You wanna get on me or you wanna go through your entire day?” Mickey said waspishly. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’d really rather get fucked than hear about your day. Because I can already tell you it sucked.”

Ian snorted and drew his attention to Mickey’s tented underwear, which was conspicuously still on his body. Ian pulled the waistband down, freeing his husband’s cock. The redhead looked lustfully at it, wanting nothing more than to put his mouth on it and give him the pleasure he deserved. Ian reached out and took it into his hand, coaxing a gasp from the brunet.

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed.

“Mmm,” Ian said. “I want to suck you off, make you feel good...and eat you out like you’d said earlier. Would you like me to do that?” 

“The fuck do you think?” Mickey managed to say. “Stop running your mouth and do what you fucking told me you were gonna do.”

“Oh, I will.” As Mickey was lying down on the bed Ian worked his way down until he reached the smaller man’s leaking cock and closed his lips around the sensitive head. Mickey’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. When he opened them and looked down at his husband, Ian watched how he was affecting Mickey, knowing exactly what to do to make him squirm. 

“Damn, Gallagher,” Mickey moaned. “Feels so good. Always so fucking good.”

Ian pulled off of Mickey’s cock with a popping sound. “I think there was something else I told you I wanted to do to you? Let me do it.” 

The low moan Mickey produced in response to Ian’s inquiry was all the confirmation that he needed to move forward. Ian spread Mickey’s legs further, holding them underneath his knees so Ian could access his opening between his full, pale cheeks. Ian groaned at the sight.

Mickey’s body trembled in anticipation, and he let out as loud of a moan as he dared when he felt Ian’s hot, wet tongue licking his sensitive hole. Ian dug his fingers into Mickey’s legs as he continued to pleasure him, feeling fingers digging into his hair and pulling it as Mickey’s body tensed up as Ian worked his tongue into him.

Without even having his cock touched, Mickey felt his erection, stiff and resting against his belly, throb to get his attention after it was neglected for what seemed like such a long time. Ian continued lavishing attention on Mickey’s hole, one hand creeping up to grasp his husband’s leaking, aching cock, a touch he had been craving. 

“Fuck!” Mickey said. “Get in me now. I fucking want it now!”

By now, Ian was more than happy to oblige. He reached over to the end table and grabbed the lube, using some of it to slick up his own fingers. He brought two of them down to Mickey’s saliva-slicked opening, inserting one and then the other as Mickey squirmed and cursed.

“Don’t want much prep. I fucking wanna feel you. Wanna feel your big cock inside me.”

Ian ignored him, preferring to tease. Once he’d gotten to three fingers, he removed them and then leaned over Mickey’s body to kiss him, Ian then slipping his tongue into the brunet’s mouth to allow him to caress it with his own. 

“Fucking enough already,” Mickey said. “Fuck me now or I’m gonna be real fucking pissed at you, and there’s no place you can go.”

“Bossy bottom,” Ian teased. “How do you want it?” 

“I wanna get on my hands and knees so you can really pound into me. Don’t even fucking care at this point. Just want it.”

Mickey repositioned himself on the bed so he was on his hands and knees, then leaned forward so his face was in the pillow and his ass was in the air, perfectly presented for Ian. 

“Probably smart to do that, since we don’t really want the Marshals hearing us,” Ian said. “Or you got a kink I don’t know about?” 

Without lifting his head, Mickey flipped Ian off. 

Ian coated his hard, dripping dick with the slippery substance, putting the tube back on the end table, before lining up behind Mickey, one hand on his hip, and pushing in, inch by inch. He did so until Mickey taken Ian’s entire length and the redhead’s sack was resting against his ass.

“Fuuuck,” Mickey moaned. “Don’t just stay there. Fucking move already, damn you.”

“Bossy.” Ian rewarded him by pulling out until just the head remained inside Mickey, and then slammed back in, forcing a loud grunt out of his husband. Not in the mood for slow and sensuous this time, Ian began pounding harder into Mickey, becoming rough enough to where the bed was squeaking and there was no way the guards in the next room couldn’t hear them.

Mickey turned his head to the side so he could talk. “You care if they hear us? Want them to know how good I take your cock?” He took his own hard, dripping length into his right hand, tattooed fingers working, twisting when they reached the head, not caring if it was in the same rhythm as Ian’s thrusts, until his breathing picked up. 

“Fuck! No, no, I don’t care!” Ian said. “Fuck, I’m gonna come!” 

“Come inside me. Fucking do it,” Mickey said.

From there, Ian was a goner. He needed it after all of the stress from today. He pumped in just a few more times until he moaned out his orgasm, filling Mickey up with his seed.

He pulled out, realizing acutely that Mickey had not yet reached his release. He pulled at his husband’s hips, trying to coax him to turn back around. “Lie back,” Ian said. “I’ll take care of you. Wanna swallow your cum.”

Mickey sat up against the headboard, spread his legs and allowed Ian to settle in between them, the redhead lying on his stomach as Mickey worked himself toward completion, Ian’s tongue lapping at the head as Mickey’s fist moved on the shaft.

“Fuck, here it comes,” Mickey said. “Almost there.” 

As Ian lowered his head, he felt Mickey tense his leg muscles as he spurted his cum into his mouth with a soft moan. Ian swallowed, then lay down on the bed next to Mickey, kissing and holding him. Tomorrow would be another long day for both of them, and they needed rest.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, shortly after they received a breakfast of eggs, French toast, sausage and orange juice, the Marshals came to take Mickey away once he’d been clean up, dressed in the suit they had prepared for him and took him to the courthouse for his testimony. It was up to Ian to keep himself occupied all day.

In the meantime, Ian tried to distract himself with reruns of _South Park_ on Hulu, but he couldn’t focus on the program. All he thought about was Mickey - how he’d be holding up on the witness stand. He knew in his heart Mickey was right about this being nothing for him, especially when compared to things in his past. Still, it hurt and he hated the thought of being stuck here in this damn hotel room, only leaving to work out. He wanted to run, breath fresh air instead of sitting in here and waiting for cabin fever to hit. 

Ian ate some of the lunch the Marshals brought into him, ran a couple of miles on the gym treadmill and tried not to get lost inside his own head. He was mostly glad he was done testifying. He was so glad that for now, he didn’t even care about Sammi, who was still in jail but was no closer to being prosecuted for her role in this case, as far as Ian knew. He didn’t want to fall back into depression from being so isolated, which he knew was a trigger for such a state of mind.

There was a punching bag in the workout room, so Ian hit it a few times, picturing his estranged sister/cousin’s face on it. He needed something to take the edge off, take his mind off of knowing that as far as he knew, nothing was going to come out of Sammi’s involvement in this mess. 

 _Nobody will snitch. No one will implicate her in this, so we’re fucked. Cortez might get put away, but she’s still fucking out there._ Ian punched the bag again, even harder this time. 

When Mickey came back, Ian could barely wait until the Marshals had left before he tackled him. He didn’t want to go through this for another day, but he knew this was part and parcel of what was to be coming up. Mickey, unlike himself, didn’t seem to be rattled at all by what Ian figured was an aggressive cross-examination.

“What did they end up saying? How did you hold up under the cross Santos gave you?”

The brunet snorted in response. “That fucker? Fucking please. I dealt with worse than Santos when I was living in Mexico. He tried to use my priors against me, even though Peterson talked about all of that up front. Said I was only trying to cut a sweetheart deal to avoid my sentence I originally got for trying to off that bitch of a half-sister of yours. But I held it together, as much as I wanted to tell him to stick up his ass.”

He sighed before continuing. “But this ain’t my first rodeo, and I held up okay. No sense in getting upset since I already testified against Diego Rivera, the dude I used to roll with before I turned my ass in to be with you. So this was nothing new. I did all right. For you, and for me.”

“Come here,” Ian said. “Let me just hold you.”

“Damn, Gallagher. Didn’t know you got turned on by fucking courtroom shit. Least you ain’t crying over it like yesterday. Hate seeing you like that,” Mickey said, smiling at Ian.

“You asshole,” Ian retorted.

“Come here, Ian,” Mickey said. “Wanna see you. Much rather it be with no clothes on.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Ian said, pouncing on him like water in the desert.

 

* * *

 

Another day passed where Ian had to just bide his time, but it seemed like forever until Mickey was finally done testifying. They could finally fly back to Buffalo to go back to their jobs. 

They went through the same routine of putting the masks and vests back on so they could be moved. Once they were on the plane back to Buffalo together, Ian had a small rum and coke, monitoring his alcohol intake. He needed the drink after all he had been through this week, and now having to go back to work. 

“Damn. I never thought I’d actually be excited to go to work,” Ian told Mickey. 

“Great. I get to deal with more fucks who want to put their hands on the merchandise at the club without paying,” Mickey said. “How the times have fucking changed since we were kids.”

Once they got home, they met at a safehouse just outside of Buffalo. The plan was for Fiona and Lip to pick them up there, since it was later in the day than they usually got moved. Ian figured they wanted to avoid more hotel and security costs. On the plane, they got their phones from the lockbox they were in for their testimony.

As soon as they were back in the car on the way to the safehouse, Ian turned his phone back on. He was utterly confused by what he saw when he saw missed texts from Lip and Fiona, but felt a slowly growing amount of dread from the increasingly panicked tone of the messages he had from his brother and sister. 

Fiona: _You have access to the news there? Look at the fucking news_

Lip: _I can’t believe it. Don’t know what the fuck Kev and V are doing, but I wish there was something we could do to help them_

 _Fiona: Guess you can’t use your phone. You’ll find out what it is when you get back, but I’m hysterical and can do jack fucking shit_  

That was only the beginning. 

“Mickey,” Ian said, his voice shaking. “Turn your fucking phone on. Something happened, and Lip and Fiona are blowing my phone up over it. They said something about Kev and V, and it sounds a lot like it’s something really bad.” 

“What the fuck?” Mickey asked. “The fuck do they know about Kev and V?”

“Fiona said they saw something on the news,” Ian said, panicking. “Let me look it up so I have half a fucking idea what’s going on here.” 

Frantically, he opened Safari on his phone and searched for news from Chicago. When he saw headlines that were coming up in Google, his heart almost stopped. They were all dated today, just after they’d left to go back to Buffalo. 

“Those bastards. They’re after someone else,” Ian said, his voice deadly serious. 

“What? You’re fucking shitting me, Ian. Please tell me you’re fucking shitting me.” 

Ian’s fingers were shaking as he opened the first article, from a Chicago news channel’s website, and read aloud, to his utter horror: 

“The Chicago Police Department and the State’s Attorney’s Office are investigating the firebombing of a popular South Side bar. They are not confirming any details or motive, but owners are reporting the Alibi Room is a total loss.” 

“Police are not yet saying if this is related to a high-profile case involving an attack nearly two years ago, in Beckman Correctional, of a witness set to testify against an accused Mendez cartel associate later this week. Further details to follow as soon as they become available.”


	43. Conclusion

The trial was done, but for Ian and Mickey, it felt as though a brand new period of mourning was just beginning. Having seen the articles about the firebombing, Ian at least had warning and knew ahead of time why his family would be so subdued on the car ride home. Even now, it had been a full week and morale had gotten no better.

_ It has to be related. It has to be.  _ Ian kept beating himself up, on one hand knowing it was foolhardy to blame himself. However, if it did turn out to be related, he felt as though he had to share some of the blame for it.  _ If we hadn’t been there in Beckman, none of this would have happened. Kev and V would still have a bar. _

“Do they know what happened?” Ian said. “Why? Was it related?”

“We don’t know yet, Ian,” Fiona answered. “I don’t think I should try to get a hold of Kev and V, because they’re in too much danger right now. As much as it kills me, I’m stuck just reading the headlines and seeing what, if anything, comes up. I don’t know if I brought this on them by contacting them, so I don’t wanna do it again. This could be my fault. Oh, fuck, this  _ is _ my fault. I did this to them. Fuck me.”

Nobody knew how to answer, and none of them even wanted to touch that line of questioning at all. It was too horrible to think they had, indirectly, cost Kev and V their whole livelihood. Were they insured? Odds were good they weren’t, because this was Kev they were talking about, and he had the business sense of a snail.

“I can’t believe the Alibi is gone,” Ian said glumly. “So much fucking happened there. Mickey came out there. I’ll never forget that night.”

“Yeah, and I got my ass beat for you,” Mickey answered. “But you know what? Looking back now, it was totally worth it and we’re real fucking better off for it. Showed you how dedicated I was, and I wasn’t gonna let my old man push me around anymore. Fuck him.”

“Frank blurted out to the whole bar that Kev and V were going to get engaged, so Kev had to quickly make up something by the seat of his pants,” Lip recalled.

“Stan was Stan. I remember when he was getting more and more senile. He’d walk around in his underwear and then he died, and the bar went to Kev because he’d disowned his son,” Ian said.

“Fuck him, too,” Mickey scoffed. “The main other thing I can remember is having to move all of those whores up there so they had someplace to live after I fucked their shit up with Sasha and they had to leave the ‘massage parlor.’ ‘Massage parlor’ in quotes. It was real fucking fun having a house full of angry Russian hand whores before we were able to get them above the Alibi.”

Ian snickered. “I was gone for all of that shit. Probably coked-out and blowing some dudes in the alley behind the Fairy Tail for $50 a pop. Fun times to remember.”

Mickey shot Ian a look. “No more of this talk. You’ve got me now. As it is, I really fucking hate to remember anything about it. Fucking missed you so much, it was like someone had just shot a hole into my chest. Nothing was there that whole time you were gone. Fuck you for your pulling the runner to the Army when I had no choice over my life.”

Ian didn’t like to dwell on this line of conversation for too long, either. “Well, you know you’ve got me now. And I’m not going anywhere. Your ass is mine, forever.”

“Wouldn’t fucking want it any other way,” Mickey said, planting a kiss on the side of his head. “You’re stuck with me forever, and ain’t that what we always wanted, Red?

_ I do have all I ever wanted. So why do I feel so fucking awful? _

 

* * *

 

More days passed, then weeks and months. As much as Mickey tried to comfort Ian and tell him that what happened to the Alibi wasn’t his fault, there was little the brunet could do to cheer up his husband. Ian was still utterly convinced what had happened to Kev and V was all his fault. After a month, Ian was still obsessively checking headlines online to see if there was any new information on their case, but nothing new came. It was torture.

Both Ian and Mickey went back to their respective jobs the week they had gotten back from Chicago, the paperwork in order so no one knew they weren’t really in Summit County, testifying in a case back in their “hometown” of Akron, Ohio. Ian knew he wanted to enroll in an LPN program so he could start getting ready for a nursing career. But for now, that didn’t even get him out of the state of depression he’d been in since the trial.

To Ian’s shock, his phone blew up one evening at work with a message from Peterson. The text read:  _ FaceTime chat tomorrow at 4 p.m.? I have an update on your case. _

Ian tried his best to keep from checking his phone obsessively while he was at the pet store, but he mostly failed and looked at it whenever there was a lull in the workday. Even the slightest glimmer of hope, of any sign of good news, was enough to keep him going, and he was tired of just living out life inside his own head when he should be thrilled about his new future. But it was too hard.

 

* * *

 

Ian was on pins and needles until 4 p.m. arrived the next day. Mickey didn’t seem to be very concerned about the outcome of the video chat, and Ian could tell Mickey was not expecting much to come of it, but Ian still continued to hold out hope, anyway.

“I doubt he’s gonna tell us anything good, Ian,” Mickey said. “No sense in getting all worked-up over it only to get let down in the end.”

Nevertheless, they both piled into their bedroom at 3:45, eager to find out what Peterson had to tell them about the case. Deep down, Ian figured Mickey was right, and since there hadn’t been any more good news about their case, the bombing of the Alibi or anything else, it was small consolation to get bits of scraps thrown to them off the table.

The phone rang, and Ian picked up.

“Ian? Mickey?” Peterson’s voice came through the phone’s speaker. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” they both answered slowly.

“I’ve got some really good news about your case. Pretty earth-shattering. We got the Copelands to flip - both of them,” Peterson said. “They pled down. As I told you, Tony Copeland was facing rape charges, and while we couldn’t prove it and his fingerprints weren’t on the murder weapon, we figure Gerard Copeland stuck the murder weapon in the door to hold it open. Then, the cartel guys kicked it down on the floor until they were out of view, and they picked it up once they were in a blind spot. He pled out, too.”

“Really?” Ian said. 

“Because the Copelands flipped, we were able to get Samantha Slott on witness tampering. It’s extremely serious - she could get as much jail time as Cortez got. We sent an undercover FBI agent in to Southgate to get anything we could out of her, and we ended up getting a hell of a lot more out of her than we even thought we would get.”

“What did you get?” Mickey asked.

“She confessed to working with Cortez to have Terry Milkovich murdered. The cartel must have been funnelling a  _ lot  _ of money to her, or she was getting it from somewhere.”

Mickey looked no less thunderstruck than Ian felt.  _ They did it. They finally fucking did it. _

“She admitted to bribing someone to set the fire at the Alibi Room, too. And there was a good reason why. Remember how, at the Cortez trial, I mentioned we had another witness to corroborate your story about what happened in the shower? We got him to talk.”

_The_ _short, bearded man. The one who catcalled Mickey in the showers._ _What a gift that turned out to be, that he was there as a witness._

“At first, he wasn’t saying much, as much as we had tried to shake him. But getting full immunity for some new charges in exchange for protection in WITSEC was more than enough to get him to go. He’s out of jail and was renting the apartment above the Alibi Room, but we’d moved him to a federal safehouse by the time of the bombing, so he still was able to testify.”

_ He lived where the rub and tug used to be _ . The dam broke, and Ian finally let it out. “You gotta be fucking kidding me!” he shouted.

“What got him to finally rat on them?” Mickey asked.

“Well, he got popped for a major drug-running operation, and with his priors, he was looking at a very...lengthy stint behind bars. In order to get out of it, he offered to give up all of the information he had on Cortez and what happened to you. We put him in a safehouse since we had figured the cartel might try to retaliate, and retaliate they did. He ended up testifying shortly after both of you got back to Buffalo. Without you and him, we wouldn’t have gotten a guilty verdict. Sentencing is in a couple of months, but we’re expecting Cortez will get a life sentence. He’s going on trial again, and will probably get extradited to Mexico.”

“Mickey...in exchange for your further cooperation in future cases involving the Mendez cartel, I agreed to have the couple of people you told me about taken care of. They’re safe now, but you know I can’t tell you where they are. Just rest assured the Marshals won’t let anything happen to them. At least you know that, based on the fact that we got you in and out safely.”

“Thanks,” Mickey said. “You haven’t been half-bad to us. It’s okay that you didn’t tell us that we weren’t gonna testify against Sammi...sort of. I’m still pissed about that.”

“Do you know if she had anything to do with our father’s - Frank Gallagher’s - death?” Ian asked. “I mean...it makes sense since there was bad blood between them.”

“We don’t believe so,” he said. “Our UC claimed she expressed regret that things went so sour - at least as far as her having a father.”

Ian snorted. “Of course. They deserved each other. Good riddance to both of them.”

Chuckling, Peterson said goodbye to both of them and hung up.

For several minutes, both Ian and Mickey sat on the bed, dumbfounded by what they had heard. They hadn’t expected anything of any worth to come out of this phone conversation, but instead, they were both completely blown away by the enormity of what they just found out. It was over. Sammi was never getting out of jail, and now this whole rollercoaster ride was over.

“You know what?” Ian finally said. “I think this calls for a fucking celebration. I want to get all of my family members, and all of your brothers and Mandy, together so that we can fucking whoop it up over the fact that that bitch is never going to see the light of day.”

“I’d be down with that,” Mickey said. “But first, I gotta explain to you what Peterson meant when he said that he had the ‘couple of people I had told him about’ taken care of. It was Svetlana and Yev. They’re both going to be going into the program, too. And Lana’s new husband. Guess she married some pencil-pusher with the Russian mafia. I asked about it, and Peterson really couldn’t tell me much, but it wasn’t the old guy.”

“Oh?” Ian said. “And they didn’t ask about her immigration status?”

“Nope,” Mickey said. “Doubt they honestly care. But apparently he got sucked into some bad shit with the mob, and they didn’t just protect them out of the goodness of their hearts. He had a lot to give up on what was going on with their financials, and I put in a good word. Still won’t be able to see them, but I figured that since the old man Lana got hitched to is dead now, Yev will be provided for with all that money from his estate.”

Ian shook his head. “Damn, you Milkoviches know how to cut deals with the authorities, even when you aren’t Milkoviches anymore.”

Mickey snorted. “Right? Since you know how the program works, I don’t know where they sent the three of them. I probably won’t be able to see him soon, anyway. But I think it’s good to leave it up to Yev until he’s older to decide if he wants to contact me. You know how they got those DNA databases now? He could use one of those.”

“What if he turns out not to be yours? He won’t be able to find you through a DNA search. You really want to know that?” Ian asked.

“Guess that’s why I said I’ll leave it up to him if he wants to see me later on. He’s not gonna remember me, so I hate to dump our shitty history on him...but as long as both of his parents, Svetlana and that dude, and I cooperate with the feds, Yev is going to be safe. Oh, and there’s something else I gotta show you, too. Got this from Peterson. Lana must’ve given it to him.”

Mickey got up and went into one of the dressers. In addition to the old, faded photo of a younger Ian that he had apparently kept this entire time - Ian wondered to himself if he’d had it with him in jail, too - there was another, newer photo. Ian looked over Mickey’s shoulder at it. In it was a photo of a little blond boy with bright blue eyes, the perfect likeness of Mickey aside from the hair color. Ian felt a feeling of warmth at the thought that Yev would be safe after all.

“Figured you’d like to have this,” Mickey said. “He can be safe, go to school, grow up and be happy,” Mickey said, “and that’s good enough for me. And if he wants to find me and break the program rules later? Nobody said we gotta follow every rule. When was that ever us?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “I remember reading in that witness protection book I told you about, there was a big case decades ago where a kid went into the program, and the divorced dad didn’t. It even happened here in Buffalo. There was a huge uproar over the fact the feds were keeping him from seeing his kid and he even sued, so I’m sure they’ve fixed that by now…maybe we could find a way to see Yev. Supervised visits?”

“Let’s leave that for another day,” Mickey said. “Not saying I am or am not open to it, but we got plenty of time to talk it over, you know?”

 

* * *

 

 

It seemed too good to be true that Sammi would finally be locked up behind bars for the rest of her life, so Ian spent the next few days in shock, waiting for the next call from Peterson, Anderson or one of the other prosecutors, telling them that it was a mistake and that nobody had decided to flip. None came, and Ian realized that this really was the end of the line for all of them.  _ Time to move on with the rest of our lives. _

Once more dust settled from the case, Fiona reached out to Kev and V, who had moved and were now living in an apartment just outside of the city lines. It turned out someone had arranged for them to have an insurance policy on the Alibi. Ian assumed it had been Svetlana who did it, since neither of them would have had the business sense to do it on their own, Ian thought to himself, given how they’d almost run the Alibi into the ground as it was more than once.

With the help of Fiona, who planned to help them from a distance without being too obvious and attracting any federal attention, the Balls were planning to move to Buffalo as soon as they could get packed up. It was a bittersweet homecoming for them, seeing as they’d lost the Alibi. But they, too, could have a fresh start.

Surprisingly, the ex-Gallaghers caught wind of yet another thing to brighten their moods. Ian was visiting Lip and Mandy, rocking Natalie in his arms while lightly singing a song to her, when he heard a phone buzzing from the end table. Ian picked it up and looked at it. It was a flip phone that looked like it was at least 10 years old.

“Whose phone is that?” Ian yelled. “Who in this house still uses a flip phone?”

To Ian’s surprise, Lip ran into the room and grabbed it. “Yo, asshole. How are things?” A pause. “Can’t say I had too much experience with the military, given that the only time I ever dealt with them in my life was when I had them show up at my college, looking for Ian. Remember that? What a fucking barrel of laughs.”

_ Cadets? _ Ian couldn’t process what he was hearing.  _ Who would Lip be talking to about cadets and the military? Unless…it couldn’t be. _

“Hey, hold on for one second. Think the rest of the family is owed a little explanation of what the fuck is going on here, since I didn’t tell them. I’m finally telling them now, so you can talk.”

“Can you two tell me what the fuck is going on?” Ian asked. “You were talking to somebody about cadets? I have my suspicions, but I don’t know how you did it.”

“Fuck your suspicions. I’m here now, and I’m here talking to all of you assholes. Missed you guys,” came the all-too familiar voice through the phone speaker. “I’m gonna enlist.”

“What the fuck?” Ian said. “Carl? What the fuck is up, man? Never thought I’d even fucking be able to talk to you again! Missed you like hell!”

“Yeah. Been talking to Lip for a while. Said he used a PVN or some shit to be able to reach you guys here. Can’t talk too loud since I don’t wanna have to answer too many questions. Hopefully Lip’ll be able to explain to you what he did to be able to get a hold of me here.”

“It’s called a VPN. And if I tried to explain it to you, I know you wouldn’t get it, so I won’t even bother,” Lip said. “I hacked into the servers and I managed to find Carl’s number and email. I used the VPN so the government can’t track us...and that antique-looking fucker is a pre-paid cell I got specifically so that I could talk to Carl at school.’”

“Fucking Carl! Why didn’t you tell us that you were talking to him?” Ian said. “Holy shit!”

“Because I wanted to make sure I could do it and hack into their servers without getting caught?” Lip shot back. “I did it. Carl’s in no danger, feds have no way of figuring out it was me, and everything’s great. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

“Yeah,” came the voice on the other end. “Since I’m 18 now, I can do it. Gonna need a waiver to be able to enlist after that arrest that got me sent to juvie, but I should be good. Didn’t make it into West Point, but I’ll be able to do it anyway. Kelly put in a good word. She’s here, too.”

“You’re gonna enlist?” Ian asked, incredulous. “Holy fuck! Congrats, man.”

“Thanks, dude,” Carl answered. “Yo, Lip - I got your email address, too, if you wanna talk. Can get on Skype and all that cool shit.”

“Yup,” Lip said. “I created a separate email address to keep writing to him, so they can’t link it to me. I’ll give you the password so you can keep talking to him. Only got a few more minutes left on that burner, but I can get a new one once it’s used up. Oh, and Carl will be fine with the waiver, because he got a recommendation. Pretty fucking special one it was, too...I may have found a way to get it done without  _ really _ revealing that I’ve been talking to our brother.”

“Some dude in a suit hit me up on Skype and said he could rush the waiver,” Carl explained. “Said his name was...Peterson.”


	44. Epilogue

_One year later_

“Come on! We get to go to Pride! We get to go be proud!” Amy said, jumping up and down with excitement. Gemma, feeding off of her sister’s excitement, echoed her, but she seemed to have more of a handle on what was going on than her sister, who had grasped the concept of “pride” but not in this specific context.

“We’re not proud of _us_. Uncle Ian said it’s about being proud boys like boys. I think that’s cool,” Gemma said. “But we aren’t boys.”

“Well, maybe your mama can be proud, because it’s about girls liking girls, too. I’m just nobody. I’m just a boring straight dude,” Kev said. “Your Uncles Ian and Mickey are the ones who can be proud, and your mama is the one who likes girls, too. So she can celebrate,” Kev said. “I can just stand there and try to look scary if anyone tries to mess with them.”

V nudged him in the arm. “Gotta start them off at an early age, right? Start them off right.”

Fiona and Iggy laughed as V looked the unlikely couple up and down. “Gotta tell you again, Fiona, I never thought a Milkovich was ever your type. But you bad boys seemed to have cleaned up pretty well since you moved out here. Guess there’s something in Buffalo’s snow that wasn’t in Chicago’s. Still getting used to the new place, but we can manage it.”

“Well, I think I’ve gotten Frannie off to a great start - teaching her all about the women in our family and throughout history who’ve done great things. And the contributions of queer women, of course. Since I’m bi,” Debbie said.

Liam, who was growing like a weed now that he was in middle school, said, “It’s really cool that we’re doing this as a family. We talked in school about Pride and how black trans women at Stonewall started it. That’s something else I can be proud of - something people don’t usually talk about during Black History Month.”

Since moving to Buffalo, Kev and V used their large insurance settlement to open a new bar in the Allentown district, near the endpoint of where Buffalo’s Pride Parade took place each year down Elmwood Avenue. The Informant, as Kev and V had named the run-down place they had bought and managed to turn around with Fiona’s expertise in flipping buildings, was just getting off the ground, but showed promise. They offered Mickey a spot serving as a bouncer there, in addition to his current job at the club. He worked alternating nights between the two places.

Before long, things took a turn for the better. Long gone was the “rape-iest bar” designation the Alibi had gotten in the South Side. Kev and V’s new place was known for being welcoming to all, and business was booming in a district known for being LGBT-friendly.

With the help of both the recommendation from Peterson and the waiver, Carl had successfully enlisted in the Army and was about to be shipped out with Kelly, to whom he’d gotten engaged. His family members regularly wrote to him and called him. Since nobody from the feds was watching them closely anymore and the furor from the cartel trial died down, no one seemed to notice. If they did, Ian knew the ex-Gallaghers would be able to find a way out of it, since they lived for breaking rules and even being in witness protection didn’t fully cure them of that.

In the year since the trial, Ian had nearly completed his licensed practical nursing diploma, and even Mickey had gotten his GED - the test for which he managed to pass with Lip’s help. Mickey refused to even entertain the notion of getting help from a “college boy” until he saw what he had to memorize, threw his hands up in disgust and nearly gave up. He finally gave in.

While Mickey had a steady job as a bouncer at the club, Mandy had been promoted to its manager. Lisa and Sharon, the club’s owners, opted to be around less to care for their newly-adopted daughter, so they needed someone else to pick up the torch and work more hours.

“So, how do you feel going to your first pride parade? _Are_ both of you feeling proud?” Lip asked, bouncing Natalie in his arms as he fielded a glare from Mickey, who flipped him off. 

“Say that again and I’ll be proud to kick you in the teeth,” Mickey retorted. “I mean, I still ain’t afraid to throw down and you know damn well I can kick your ass into the fucking ground. Thought you might have realized that the last time you pissed me the fuck off.” 

Lip raised his hands in surrender. “Jesus, Mickey. Can’t say anything around this one, Ian.” 

“No, you can talk to him. You should know this by now, Lip. You just have to say the right thing to him.” Ian lowered his voice to a whisper. “Like how much I want to come back here and fuck you after we’re done with all of these Pride festivities, just to thank you for coming along.”

Lip snickered. “I don’t want to know what you just said to him.” 

“I got roped into coming to this shitty parade,” Mickey said. “When the fuck have I ever been a rainbow-flying queer? As it fucking is, I don’t know why I put up with this goofy ginger fuck.” He tugged at the short sleeves on his shirt and tried not to scratch his newly-finished tattoo. Stephanie, their artist, found a way to cover the “South Side Forever” in Spanish on Mickey’s arm and incorporate the Grim Reaper into a larger piece, representing life and death, that wrapped around his arm - something that embodied his resilience. Ian thought it was very “Mickey.”

“I just told you why you put up with me,” Ian said, smirking. “And I would never make you wear anything pink. I think we’d sign our own death warrants if any of us tried.”  
“Smart man,” Iggy added, throwing an arm around Fiona. “But let’s get down there before all of the little rainbow flags are gone. Pick up some extras just for Mick.” 

Iggy ducked as he dodged a spoon being thrown at his head.

 

* * *

 

Once they arrived, they stood in the crowd of people, near a street vendor selling miniature pride flags and another one selling tacos. Mandy and Lip stood next to him as Kev and V went to find food other than tacos for Amy and Gemma, while Debbie pointed out the significance of some of the slogans and designs painted on the sides of the vehicles as they passed. Liam was taking pictures on his iPhone.

Ian thought to himself that this would be Natalie’s first-ever Pride, although she was too young to know it. Ian looked over at his niece, who was clinging to his mother as Mandy held her. But as she got older, she’d be surrounded by people who would teach her acceptance and love, unlike the hell and the metaphorical prison from which her mother and uncles had come. Never again would Mickey need to hide, cowering in fear, afraid to be who he really was.

Pulling Iggy along, Fiona texted Kev and V, trying fruitlessly to find them in the crowd. She eventually gave up and parked herself next to Liam. Ian supposed Fiona had thought she would be able to find the Balls via Kev’s head. However, even though Kev was still taller than Ian, the redhead felt small in this crowd of screaming people. He thought to himself that maybe some of these people may have recognized him from his days as Gay Jesus, depending on how viral the video went, but for now, he seemed safe. No one seemed to recognize him.

Mickey, contrary to his grumbling, didn’t seem to be as bothered by the more flamboyant people in the large crowd as Ian had expected. He didn’t make any sarcastic, biting comments about how some of these men needed to learn how to walk like dudes. He didn’t seem to care about much else aside from Ian, who was proud of how far Mickey had come since he was that scared, tough-talking teen from the South Side whose deepest, darkest secret was liking men.

“Uh, oh,” Lip said, pointing. “Here comes trouble.” 

Sure enough, a small group of protesters with signs was making its way into the crowd. A loud chorus of boos greeted them as they lined up along the edge of one of the buildings. They seemed to be from some church group, Ian thought, thinking back to the foolhardy decision he made, while manic, to lead a movement against such people 

_That’s no church. That’s a fucking hate group. They’d fucking crucify Christ all over again,_ Ian thought to himself, angrily, before backpedaling away from this dangerous ground.

Ian felt Mickey grip his hand tighter, as if to tell him to ignore them. _Mickey knows how I feel about this shit,_  Ian thought, bringing himself back to when he went to the military funeral and almost attacked one of the Westboro Baptist fuckheads with a cross. Mickey held him back then, trying to keep him from doing anything rash. The larger part of Ian wished he hadn’t fallen prey to those fools who wanted to use him for their own ends after Mickey fled to Mexico - but then if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have ever found Mickey again. Things had a way of working out like that.

“Ian...leave them alone. You ain’t who you used to be anymore, and you don’t need to end up on YouTube again...it’ll get out, and we gotta stay in hiding,” Mickey told him. “Don’t. Kind of defeats the purpose if you show back up on social media again beating the shit outta those fuckheads. If it didn’t mean that I’d get thrown back in jail and away from you, I’d kick their asses. But they ain’t worth losing you again. Nothing is.” 

Ian reassured Mickey that he was fine, and that his husband wouldn’t end up pulling Ian off of one of them. However, Ian felt a surprising disconnect and little desire to actually go out and get into the fray. There wasn’t the uncontrollable, blinding rage he felt when unmedicated, or when his meds needed to be adjusted. All he felt was the desire to keep himself and Mickey safe.

Ian felt refreshed, whole again. He was no longer the Ian Gallagher who was manic and ranting about religion and tolerance without any concern for the consequences, and he certainly didn’t need to backslide. He was older now, past the point of being a stupid kid, he hoped. He and Mickey had been forced, by circumstance, to grow up much too quickly, with often-tragic results. But now, enjoying his adulthood meant that he had to stay out of trouble. 

Ian was 26 now, on the “wrong side” of his twenties, and he knew from multiple experiences that going out there and throwing a punch at some homophobic pricks wasn’t the answer and would only land him in trouble. He’d learned that in Gowanda Correctional, when he’d punched that dude, Steve, in the face over transphobic comments he made. He’d almost gotten himself more time. Here and now, all that it would do was just get him taken from Mickey.

Last time, before he went to jail, Ian went rogue again because Mickey wasn’t there. This time, a firm hand landed on Ian’s shoulder from below, and it was like Ian knew what he was thinking before the words had left his mouth. _It’s not worth it. It’s not worth losing your freedom. You’ve come so far, too far to fuck it all up now._

Sure enough, someone from the jeering crowd yelled obscenities at the protesters, and a beer bottle came hurtling from the throng of angry revelers. “Go back to your phony fucking churches and pray some more for people who don’t want it!” The person who threw the bottle lunged at one of the men holding the signs and was preparing to throw a punch when all hell broke loose. More revelers broke from the crowd and started to attack the intruders.

Swiftly, nearby officers ran out to curb the disarray. It dawned on Ian, as the officers stepped into the center of the melee and restrained the man who’d thrown the first punch, and officers restrained some of the other instigators, that none of this was worth it. It wasn’t worth it to throw away his life on nobodies, because all it would get him would be another record, another mark of shame of not being able to control urges. 

And he was beyond that point. The cops hauled the man away, Ian thinking to himself that several years ago, he could have been in the same position. There was a better way to fight against homophobic pricks like Terry Milkovich and these protesters: by being himself, and he had the rest of his life to do that with Mickey.

_I’m more than they are. They’re pathetic, and I’m more than they will ever be,_ Ian said. He didn’t need to fall back down the rabbit hole to realize that, and he certainly wasn’t going to let himself get locked up again on account of these stupid fuckheads - since now he knew who he was. He was Mickey Milkovich’s husband, whether that was his legal name or not. It didn’t matter.

Ian had wanted to be someone from a young age: the forgotten middle child, he pushed himself to have the drive that would be needed to join the Army. Once that had gone to shit, he then fought his ass off to be an EMT in spite of his mental illness - or rather, because of it, it became his strength and his drive to succeed and be somebody. Now, he was going to be able to help people as a licensed practical nurse - helping the sick, making a real, tangible difference in the world. The movement he’d gotten sucked into before bred destruction. 

From there, Ian looked forward to what the future would bring, instead of looking back in fear and regretting his past. He’d made mistakes, but he got a fresh start, one he’d never dream of having back when he thought he’d lost the love of his life forever, never to see him again. He came out of it with a new identity and a new last name, but it was the start that they truly both needed. He’d spoken to Carl since Lip figured out how to reach him without drawing federal attention. Ian knew that his little brother, once a hopeless delinquent, would be on the right track.

As he held Mickey’s hand, Ian’s mind began to wander further. He thought about how a large part of being in the WITSEC program, of being in the sort of thing Ian had thought existed only on TV and in crime dramas, was about being anonymous. That was how it had to be. While there were days when Ian still thought back on the fame he’d gotten for himself when he was manic, he realized he preferred being unknown. It was just easier.

There were still days when Ian couldn’t believe how things had improved in his life. He’d gone from a kid born to an alcoholic father and a bipolar mother who refused to take medication, and it seemed a foregone conclusion that he’d live a sad, unfulfilled and unsuccessful life. Now, he was on a new path, a new beginning toward a new career that would enable him to use his talents. And this time, there wasn’t that hole in his heart. Mickey was there. It seemed so unrealistic that it worked out that way in the end. Some days, Ian felt like crying, but this time, they weren’t tears of grief and despair from all of the hardship life had thrown at Mickey and himself. They were tears of joy. All the heartache was behind them at last. 

For now, Ian savored the feeling of standing in a large, screaming crowd with his husband, still holding hands as the parade began. They were proud and out gay men, anonymous by necessity, yet free from the grime, dirt, violence and circumstances of their childhood. 

Ian thought back to the tattoo he had gotten for Mickey, which reminded him of what Mickey told him about their relationship so many years ago at the Alibi. _The Alibi may be gone, but our lives are just beginning. We made it - a lifetime together, on our own terms. We’re finally free._

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of trying to stay as accurate to real life as possible, I’ve done research on WITSEC and what the real-life witness protection program in the U.S. would involve.
> 
> Here is a list of ALL of the sources I used and will use for this story, for various topics covered within - whether related to witness protection or not:
> 
>  
> 
> Sources related to witness protection and the U.S. legal system:
> 
>  _WITSEC: Inside the Federal Witness Protection Program,_ by Pete Earley and Gerald Shur
> 
> https://www.usmarshals.gov/duties/factsheets/witsec.pdf
> 
> http://mentalfloss.com/article/77695/12-secrets-witness-protection-program
> 
> https://priceonomics.com/what-happens-when-you-enter-the-witness-protection
> 
> https://www.nytimes.com/1996/02/11/magazine/the-invisible-family.html
> 
> https://www.ranker.com/list/weird-witness-protection-program-rules/nathan-gibson
> 
> http://www.todayifoundout.com/index.php/2015/03/really-happens-someone-enters-witness-protection-program
> 
> https://www.gorillaconvict.com/2011/09/witsec/
> 
> https://people.howstuffworks.com/witness-protection5.htm
> 
> https://www.justice.gov/usao-nj/victim-witness/handbook
> 
> https://www.justice.gov/jm/jm-9-21000-witness-security
> 
> https://www.justice.gov/usao/justice-101/steps-federal-criminal-process
> 
> https://www.justice.gov/usao-wdwa/victim-witness/victim-witness-program-witness-information
> 
> https://www.americanbar.org/groups/litigation/committees/trial-evidence/practice/2018/tips-from-bench-cross-examination
> 
>  
> 
> Other sources for other miscellaneous material covered in this fic:
> 
> https://www.buffalony.gov/856/Getting-Married
> 
> https://www.allalliedhealthschools.com/lpn-training/
> 
> http://www2.erie.gov/health/sites/www2.erie.gov.health/files/uploads/pdfs/familypacket.pdf


End file.
